The Mentalist: Double Talk
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Collaboration with Nerwen Aldarion. Our loving tribute to the wonderful films of Doris Day and Rock Hudson. Lisbon joins an ad agency where Jane is a very territorial top dog. When they find themselves pursuing the same client, will their competetive hijinks lead them to war...or to love? Extreme AU. Romance/Humor. Rated T/M for language and adult situations.
1. Everything but the Oink

A/N: As you might have noticed, I really enjoy writing collaborations! It challenges me, keeps me excited about the fandom, and lets me learn from other writers. I asked Nerwen Aldarion to write this one with me because I found out on Twitter that she LOVES Doris Day/Rock Hudson movies from the late 50's/early 60's, so when I threw out this idea on Twitter, she was so enthusiastic that I knew she would put her whole heart into this fic (as she does all her great stories—check them out!). Anyway, if you've seen and loved "Pillow Talk," "Lover, Come Back," or "Send Me No Flowers," you will recognize that we are stealing (lovingly) some of the basic premises of these romantic comedies, but you don't have to be a fan of them to get what we're doing here.

It is AU, of course, set in the same timeframe of those old movies, and to stay believable for the time, our beloved characters' actions and reactions might at times seem out of character. Also, it was a different time, when women in particular were not as respected in the workplace (note also the shades of "Mad Men"). I hope you will allow these minor instances of OOC and enjoy what we create. Jane in particular might at first seem slightly off, but we are using the Jane from "Fugue in Red," or from his fake psychic days, or an exaggeration of the current show when he is at his most infuriating. You know the times I mean.

So, we hope you enjoy this fluffy, romantic romp. Thanks for taking the chance on another of my crazy experiments!

**Double Talk**

**Chapter 1: Everything but the Oink**

_**Sacramento, California, 1963**_

"Mr. Jane," came the disembodied voice of his secretary, Grace, from the intercom on his desk.

"Yes, dear," he replied absently.

"Sorry to bother you, sir, but Mr. Mashburn requests your presence in his office right away. He said he's been trying to call you directly for a half-hour, but you aren't answering your phone."

There was a hesitation. "Tell him I'm busy."

"He's not going to like that for a minute. It seems pretty urgent."

"Everything's urgent with him. He called me _urgently_ into his office last week to ask my opinion on which yacht he should by. Tell Mr. Moneybags I'm trying to buy him a couple more yachts by landing that hot dog account."

"But, sir—"  
"Look, Grace, perfection takes time and limited interruptions. You know how hard it is to sell a hot dog called Frank's Franks? I know it seems like the name should sell itself, but trust me—"

"Sir—" her voice had gone to an insistent whisper.

"Have you tasted these things, Grace? They're terrible. Talk about everything but the oink…"

"Sir?"

"As a matter of fact, I think they must have gone ahead and added the oink. They have an oddly _oinky _flavor that's nearly impossible to describe, let alone—that's it, Grace! Eureka!"

"Mr. Jane!" Grace said, her voice suddenly overly cheerful. "Mr. Mashburn is here to see you."

"Here? Outside my office?"

"Yes, sir."

Jane sighed in defeat. "Well I guess I can't hide now. He knows I'm in here."

"Yes, sir," she replied almost glumly. Both her bosses always managed to put her between a rock and a hard place, and it just wasn't fair. She buzzed open Jane's door.

"You can go in now, Mr. Mashburn."

Walter Mashburn reached out a hand over her desk to caress the redhead's peaches and cream cheek.

"Thanks, doll. Someday I'm gonna steal you away from that taskmaster in there, show you what it means to be truly appreciated for all your—"his eyes roamed to her pleasing bosom, modestly filling out her pink cashmere sweater—"finer assets."

Grace blushed. "Thank you sir, but I couldn't begin to take Madeline's place."

"Yes, there is that." He sighed wistfully. "This company wouldn't run without her."

"Yes, sir."

Jane's door suddenly opened and in walked the tall, dark, Italian-suited owner and CEO of Mashburn Advertising Agency. Jane didn't even rise from his desk when his boss came in, so intent was he on writing down the brilliant new slogan he'd just thought of. A cluttered, free-standing bulletin board was set up behind him, covered with newspaper clippings, drawings, marketing graphs and other odd things meant to inspire the office's occupant. Mashburn barely spared it a glance; it was usually indecipherable anyway, much like the workings of the man's ingenious mind.

"Patrick, nice to see you working so hard on—"

Jane held up his hand to forestall Mashburn's opening speech while he finished jotting down the last three words. Mashburn frowned. Sometimes Jane needed to be reminded who was boss around here.

"Now, look Patrick, we need to get something straight. I'm your boss. No, not just your boss, _The Boss._ That means when I call you, or tell your secretary you should get your ass to my office, you drop everything and get your ass—"

"Frank's Franks," Jane interrupted, in his best announcer's voice. "So good, we even added the oink."

"That's terrible," said Mashburn with a frown. "Upton Sinclair isn't the sort of allusion we want for a meat product."

Jane sighed, running a hand through his disheveled blonde curls, effectively ruining the careful coif he'd achieved that morning with double the Brylcreem. (He had to use so much, he was probably singlehandedly cornering sales in the California market alone.) Jane grimaced, crumbling up his sheet of paper and tossing it over his desk. He missed the shot and it rolled to join the other small paper wads surrounding the wastebasket. He'd never been good at sports.

"You're right, Walter. That stinks worse than Frank's Franks."

"Don't worry, old sport, you'll get it. I have every confidence in you. But that's not why I'm here. Aside from the fact that you so insubordinately refuse to come when called, I thought I'd bring the mountain to you."

Jane grinned, then sat back in his leather chair. "Okay, Mohammed. Shoot."

"As you know, I just got back from the Chicago Advertiser's Convention—"

"You were gone?"

Mashburn frowned and went over to Jane's liquor cart. He poured himself two fingers of scotch, swirling it around in his glass. He didn't offer any to Jane, who rarely drank the stuff himself. He said it fogged the brain. Instead, he drank hot tea like an old woman. A small pot of it rested even now on his desk in a tea cozy of all things. If the man wasn't such a genius…

"Christ, Patrick, I told you last week I was going to this thing, but you didn't want to come, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. That. So, how's tricks in the windy city?"

"Windier than ever. But boy did I land us a prized fish, my friend. Aw, 'she doth teach the torches to burn bright—'"he said, dreamily paraphrasing the Bard.

"She?"

Mashburn laughed in secret triumph, sipping his whiskey. He moved to look out Jane's window at the distant Tower Bridge, the Sacramento River rolling lazily beneath it. "Yes, our fish is of the feminine variety. Brains and beauty—a dangerous combination."

Jane lazily swiveled his chair back and forth. "You brought back a woman, eh? Wife number—what is it now—four?"

"No, no, no, Patrick—"

"Five then. Hmm. There was Susan, then Betty, then that French debutante, Sophia, right? Who am I missing?"

"No, God help me, not another wife. I'm still paying for the last three. No, she's much better than a wife. She's…Teresa Lisbon!"

By the way Mashburn announced her, Jane knew he was supposed to have been impressed with the name, but he was at a total loss.

"Teresa _Lisbon_," Mashburn attempted again. At Jane's blank expression, Mashburn sighed in frustration. "Aren't you aware of anything that goes on outside of Sacramento? Teresa Lisbon is responsible for the Dental-Brite commercials."

Jane's eyes widened. "You're kidding me."

"Not at all! And _I _got her!"

"A _woman_ wrote those ads?" said Jane in disbelief.

A vivid image of the campaign flashed through his mind.

_Christopher Columbus steps onto dry land, smiling broadly, an animated sparkle appearing on his teeth. The announcer says, in his newsreel voice: "America is discovered, and Dental-Brite is there." Flash forward in time, George Washington at the bow of his rowboat crossing the Delaware, false teeth sparkling. "Our founding fathers discover democracy, and Dental-Brite is there." An apple falls on Isaac Newton's head as he sits beneath a tree. "Gravity is discovered, and Dental-Brite is there." Now, zoom in on a handsome, modern-day young man, brushing his teeth in his t-shirt before his bathroom mirror. "For your next big accomplishment, let Dental-Brite be there for __**you**__." Then we see him in the boardroom of a big city business, wearing a suit and smiling broadly as he shakes hands with a big wig. _

It had been a brilliant campaign, Jane marveled. Funny. Classy. Successful. But, a _woman_?

"Yes, a woman," said Mashburn, annoyed. "But that's not what matters. Are you listening to me, Patrick? The biggest, most award-winning, money-making campaign of last year, and the genius behind it is now working for me!"

"Why?"

"What do you mean, _why_?"

"Well, Walter, Sacramento isn't exactly known for being the center of advertising. Why did she decide to come here rather than to say, New York City? Or hell, Chicago would have even been preferable to this backwater town."

"Because I gave her an offer she couldn't refuse, that's why. Teresa Lisbon is now the new Creative Director, second in command to only me."

Jane looked at his boss and friend in shock. Rarely did things take him by surprise, but this... "But _I'm_ the Creative Director," he sputtered.

"Of course you are," said Mashburn with more than a hint of condescension. He was inordinately pleased to have shaken up the unshakeable Patrick Jane for a change. "But now there are _co-_Directors. Isn't that inspired?" He downed the rest of his drink.

"That's ridiculous," protested Jane, rising angrily to his feet. "Haven't I put this firm on the map, not only in the state of California, but with _five_ national ad campaigns? When we first started this business ten years ago, we were making print ads for local funeral parlors and used car lots. Now, we're doing major magazines and television, having to turn away business, we're so successful. And it's mostly due to my brilliance, Walter, _mine, _not some Chicago floozy on a lucky streak."

Mashburn chuckled. "She's no floozy, believe me. But I want Sacramento to become the Madison Avenue of the West Coast. I want companies to speak of us with the same breath they speak of Sterling Cooper in New York. With Teresa Lisbon, I can see that actually happening. You might have the brains for writing slogans and jingles, but I'm the one with the head for business. Teresa Lisbon is a huge asset, and you'd better not do anything to undermine her, you hear me? I'm deadly serious about this, Patrick. I know how you are when you're feeling like your back's against the wall. But she's no threat to you, I promise. Work with her. She's very easy-going and good-natured. I expect you'll hit it off immediately."

Jane sincerely doubted it. "Walter—"

"No, you're not manipulating me into changing my mind for once. You gotta trust me on this, okay? And with all the new business she's going to pull in, you'll need the extra help." He walked over to Jane and patted the shorter man on the back in encouragement.

"Ha," scoffed Jane. Then a thought occurred to him, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What does this Teresa Lisbon look like, Walter?"

Mashburn noticeably tensed. _Bingo_. "What difference does that make?" he said casually. _Too_ casually.

"Ah-ha, just what I thought. She's a looker, isn't she? Tall, blonde? Broad where a broad should be? Isn't that your usual type?"

"She's a brunette if you must know, and I'd be surprised if she could see over the steering wheel of my new convertible. But that's neither here nor there. I hired her for her talent. Oh, and her spunk."

Jane grinned, his perfect teeth sparkling white. He used Dental-Brite himself, after all. _Well, Teresa Lisbon would never have the satisfaction of knowing that, that's for sure, _he thought_._

"Spunk?" he repeated aloud. "You mean she won't let you have your way as easily as your other conquests? Oh, I get it now. She played hard-to-get so you devised a way to get her into your bed another way—dangling a different kind of carrot before her." Jane laughed at his own vulgar pun. Then his face fell with sudden realization. "How much are you paying her, Walter?"

"Come on, Patrick. Money is not the issue here," he said evasively, stepping back toward the half-empty carafe.

"Of course it is. Money is _always_ the issue with guys like you. So, spill. You owe me that much, after all my years of loyalty to this company."

Both of them remembered the offers that had come pouring in from Madison Avenue after his first and then subsequent national campaigns. He'd refused them all, choosing to stay with Mashburn out of friendship and his love of California weather.

"Twenty-five thousand," he replied sheepishly.

"What?" That was five thousand more than Jane made. He thought about it a moment, his ire extinguishing somewhat. "Well I can see what price you put on our friendship, Walter. I want a raise."

"Let me guess, a five-thousand dollar raise?"

"Five thousand and _one_," Jane countered. "Or I call Sterling Cooper right now."

"You're serious?"

"Yep."

"But you hate New York."

"Take it or leave it, Walter."

Mashburn sighed. "Fine. But you'd better pick things up a bit, come up to Miss Lisbon's level of fresh creativity, or you'll be out on your ear regardless of our friendship."

"And what if _Miss Lisbon_ doesn't measure up?" Jane asked. "What if Dental-Brite was just a flash in the pan? A one-time thing?"

"Then she'll be gone. This is business, Patrick, nothing more." Not wanting to leave things so tense between them, Mashburn smiled. "Now, get back to work. Make the magic happen with Frank's Franks; I have no doubt you will. You're still my number one guy."

"But you also have a number one _girl_ now, don't you? If this is just business, then I expect you to be professional about this too, especially where Miss Lisbon is concerned. Let her get ahead on her own merits, Walter, not by giving in to your salacious invitations. She's already prostituted herself by coming here—"

"Hey! Don't besmirch the lady's honor. Very ungentlemanly of you."

Jane noted how strongly he was defending her. It was almost…_chivalrous_. This Miss Lisbon must really be something to have struck such a protective chord in the perpetual playboy.

"All right, I'll reserve judgment. And I'll try to work with the lady, but I make no promises above that."

"Fair enough. She'll be coming in sometime today, so behave yourself and give her a warm welcome, will ya?"

"_Today?_ Gee, Walter, thanks for the timely head's-up."

"Patrick—"

"All right, all right. You can count on me, Boss." He gave a mocking, two-finger salute.

Mashburn rolled his eyes, opened the door, and left Jane to his brooding.

Alone, Jane's face became grim. There was no way in hell he was working with some Chicago cast-off that had likely slept her way to a Clio Award. Friendship or not, Mashburn was obviously trying to get him to stop resting (all right, _sleeping)_ on his laurels. Well, he was plenty awake now, and Teresa Lisbon would have no idea what hit her.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Being a Chicago girl, Teresa Lisbon was completely unimpressed with Sacramento, and as the taxi pulled up in front of Mashburn Advertising Agency, she felt her heart sink even further. Instead of the beautiful high-rise office building she'd been used to at her last firm, this beige brick structure seemed to be no more than four stories high, and looked more like a government building than one of the top ad agencies on the West Coast.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Teresa? _ she asked herself.

Still, when she'd met Walter Mashburn at the Chicago Advertising Convention, he'd stood above (quite literally—he was very tall) most of the other ad executives who'd tried to wine and dine her away from her comfortable Michigan Avenue firm. For one thing, he actually seemed ready to put his money where his mouth was. And with three younger brothers to put through college, she needed all the help she could get.

Besides, no other firm was willing to offer a directorship to a young former copywriter such as herself, Clio Award or no. From the whispers she'd heard, most of the male executives figured she'd become successful by working on her back, or that her national campaign had been a fluke. Sure, they'd hire someone with her prestige to add to the cachet of their firm, but no way would they make a woman boss within the male-dominated industry.

That is, until Walter Mashburn.

But Teresa hadn't been born yesterday. She knew he was romantically interested in her, and when she'd politely refused to come back to his hotel room for a nightcap after the expensive meal he'd bought her, he'd figured there was only one other way to entice her. He'd offered her a job, and he'd had no qualms giving a supervisory position to a woman. She'd wondered if he figured she would feel obligated to return the favor in some lascivious way, but by the end of the conference, he'd produced a legal contract, and a lawyer friend of hers had confirmed its validity. She'd signed it, and hadn't looked back. Well, until now.

So, here she was at last, Creative Director of a major California ad firm at the ripe old age of twenty-nine. Her office wouldn't overlook the Magnificent Mile, but the pretty golden bridge and the river beneath it seemed lovely. She heard the weather here was nice, though somewhat hot in the summer. She sighed. Who was she kidding? This place was as inspiring as a pile of bricks.

She paid the cab driver and got out to enter the building, stopping at reception to have them direct her to the right office. The interior was encouragingly more modern than the exterior, and she rode up the elevator to the third floor, adjusting her smart green suit and matching pillbox hat. She patted down her dark hair, hoping it still looked fresh and that all of her wavy wisps were still in a neat bun at the back of her head.

When the elevator door slid open, she walked down the hall to a secretary who protectively guarded a door marked in gold letters, _Walter Mashburn, CEO_. A beautiful woman about Teresa's age, with dark skin and beautiful golden-brown eyes, greeted her kindly.

"Miss Lisbon? Mr. Mashburn is expecting you. And may I say how wonderful it is to have you here at MAA."

"Thank you," said Teresa.

"You're welcome. I'm Madeline Hightower. If there's anything you need, you let me know. Mr. Mashburn said he would show you to your new office himself."

She obviously meant Teresa to feel honored by this personalized service.

"That's very kind of him," she said politely.

Madeline buzzed her in, and Lisbon opened the door to a beautiful office with the finest office furniture money could buy. It was all rich mahogany and leather, the carpet a deep red. Her expectations lifted a notch.

Mashburn rose from behind his desk to come forward and greet her warmly.

"Miss Lisbon! How nice to see you here at last! How was your flight? Would you like a drink?" His enthusiasm was certainly flattering.

"Thank you! Everyone here is so welcoming, I must say. My flight was thankfully uneventful, and no, I generally don't have a drink before noon."

Mashburn smirked, his eyes going to the crucifix hanging around her pale neck. _Good Catholic girl,_ he figured.

"Well, I feel like celebrating." He poured himself his second scotch of the day.

"I was just talking about you with your co-Director," said Mashburn, indicating she sit in one of the dark leather chairs across his desk.

"Co-director?" she said, startled. Red flags rose before her eyes.

"Why, yes. Patrick Jane. I'm sure I spoke to you about him in Chicago."

"Yes, but—well, you never mentioned I would be my _partner_."

Mashburn chuckled. "Didn't I? Well, my apologies for the oversight. He's our star executive. That is, until _you_ joined us."

She'd certainly heard of the famous Patrick Jane. Everyone had seen his last national ad for Duradrive Tires. Who didn't love a chimpanzee in a business suit driving his monkey family around in a golf cart? _At Duradrive, we don't monkey around with our tires. _ It was insightful and amusing, and she'd admired his work immensely_. _It was a clear contender for the next Clio Award.

Teresa had been eager to work with Jane, but she never considered she'd be in a partnership with him. She figured he was some upper level executive, far above her pay grade. Things had just gotten a bit more interesting.

"I'm sure you're eager to see your new office. You have a similar view to mine," he said proudly. He inclined his head over his shoulder, where a plate glass window gave a pretty view of the bridge Teresa had admired earlier.

"Yes, that would be lovely."

They walked past Madeline, who nodded and smiled at them, and Mashburn escorted her down the hall, past a pretty red-headed secretary to another office. Her heart pounded when she saw her name and new position had already been added to the door in gold letters similar to Mashburn's.

"I had that installed the day after you signed," he said proudly. "Please, come in and have a look."

He opened the door for her and she gasped at the luxury awaiting her. Her desk was like Mashburn's, only on a much smaller scale, but her furniture was a pristine, winter white leather, from the chair behind her desk, to the couch against her wall. The carpet here was the same red shag. Back in Chicago, she'd had to share a cold cubicle with another man, who'd been resentful to be paired with a woman. She couldn't believe this was all hers, and she said so. He gave a small, knowing smile, pleased that she was pleased.

"Why, nothing but the best for you, Miss Lisbon."

He moved closer to her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "You don't know how excited I am to finally be working with you."

She tried to ignore his hand, but found herself walking away uncomfortably in the guise of looking out the window. He followed her. He was charming, she told herself, and it wasn't as if he had made a pass at her.

"Likewise, Mr. Mashburn. The view _is_ very nice," Teresa said, too brightly.

"Yes, isn't it? And call me Walter, if you don't mind…Teresa." She hesitated, but saw little harm in that small concession.

"If you insist. But before we go any further, uh, Walter, I must insist that we remain completely professional. I don't believe in dating my boss."

There, she'd said it, and if he wanted to fire her—

"Oh, no, Teresa, I hope I haven't given you the wrong impression. You see, I'm genuinely impressed by your talent, and hopeful you will be a profitable addition to this firm. But we aren't too formal of a lot around here, so I'm sorry if you're unaccustomed to our lack of decorum."

"No, it's quite all right. Things were much different in Chicago," she hedged.

"Well," he said with a smile, "this _is_ California."

Just then, the redhead from Mr. Jane's office knocked lightly on the open door.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mashburn. Sorry to interrupt, but Madeline just called my desk to tell you you're needed to take an overseas phone call in your office."

"Oh! Thank you, Grace. Excuse me, Teresa, but I have to take this call. I'll catch up with you later. Grace here will see to your needs, including connecting you with the steno pool so you can conduct interviews for a new secretary."

"Thank you, Mr.—"  
"Walter," he corrected.

"Thank you, Walter. I'll see you later."

When he'd left, Grace was still hovering around Teresa's new office door.

"Well," said Teresa. "Is he always that…enthusiastic?"

Grace chuckled. "Yes. I don't know where he gets his energy. I'm Grace Van Pelt, by the way, Mr. Jane's secretary." The women shook hands.

"Nice to meet you, Grace. I'm Teresa Lisbon."

"Do you need anything?"

"No, nothing at the moment, except for the steno pool information Mr. Mashburn suggested."

"I'll make some calls and arrange for the likeliest candidates. Any preferences for the type of girl you want, the skills she should have?"

"I would just like the most skilled typist you can find and one who has good telephone manners. Other than that, I can't think of a thing."

"Very well. Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?"

"Not right now, thanks. But you can show me where the coffee room is. I like to fix my own."

Grace smiled. "You sound like Mr. Jane. I've been working for him for two years, and he still won't let me fix his tea."

"Really?" she said curiously. Odd outside of England for a man to drink hot tea.

"Oh, yes. Apparently I don't get the water hot enough, and I always forget to pour the cream in first."

Lisbon smiled and followed Grace to the executive coffee room.

"So, what's he like?" Teresa asked casually.

"Who? Mr. Jane?"  
"Yes."

"Well…he's a very good boss, as far as that goes. He's firm, but fair. And he has a very wicked sense of humor." She smiled just thinking about it.

"Vulgar?" Teresa asked, her mouth turning down in disapproval.

"Well, there is some innuendo, but that comes with the territory. You are the only woman executive, so I'm sure you will hear a lot of off-color remarks. I've just learned not to be too sensitive about it. I don't want to make waves, if you know what I mean."

They'd reached the small kitchenette, equipped with an electric stove, coffee and tea accoutrement, and even a small refrigerator. "We're allowed to keep our lunches from home in here if we want. By we, I mean the secretaries, of course. Usually the executives go out to eat at lunchtime. Working lunches, they call them."

"Sounds expensive to me," said Teresa. She'd certainly bring her lunch most days if she could help it.

Grace seemed to hesitate after she'd shown Teresa the contents of the cupboards. "You know, Miss Lisbon, I just want to say how thrilled I am to see a woman with some real power in this business. You must be very proud."

Teresa blushed a little. "I admit I can't believe I've made it this far. Just three years ago, I was a copywriter in the advertising department of a small city paper. It's very humbling."

"Well, maybe there's hope for me yet," said Grace.

"Of course there is. It just takes hard work and patience. Lots and lots of patience."

"That's actually what Mr. Jane says to me," Grace said, as they walked back down the hall to Teresa's new office.

Teresa glanced at the Patrick Jane's closed door. "You don't suppose I could meet him now, do you?"

"I'm sorry, but he says he doesn't wish to be disturbed. He's working on a big campaign and needs complete focus."

"Oh?" she said curiously. "What product?"

"Hot dogs, I think," replied Grace. "Frank's Franks."

Teresa smiled. "Wow! I wonder if he'd like some help. I'm pretty good with thinking up slogans," she said modestly.

Grace rapidly shook her head. "I wouldn't even try it if I were you. He doesn't exactly like to share…"

At that moment, two men, a tall, lanky fellow and a much shorter, muscular one, strode down the hall and stopped at Grace's desk.

"Hi, Grace," said the tall man shyly. "Mr. Jane just called down to the bullpen and asked that we come up right away."

"Really?" said Grace, mystified. She glanced at Teresa. "He must have had a breakthrough. I'll buzz you and Kimball in, Wayne. Oh, Miss Lisbon, these two gentlemen are Wayne Rigsby and Kimball Cho, up from the Creative lab downstairs. They call it the bullpen, because, well, I'm sure you can figure it out, especially after you get to know these two." She gave the two men a teasing smile, and Rigsby flushed at her attention. "Wayne, Kimball, this is Miss Lisbon, Mr. Jane's new co-Director."

Both men's eyebrows shot up in surprised unison. They recovered quickly, however, and shook her proffered hand.

"A pleasure, ma'am."

"Nice to meet you, Miss Lisbon."

"Thank you," said Teresa.

Grace spoke into the intercom. "Mr. Jane, Cho and Rigsby are here."

"Send them in," said a harried voice through the intercom.

"Oh, and since you have broken your isolation, Miss Lisbon is here as well to meet with you if you like."

Grace smiled at Teresa.

"Hell, no, Grace. I'm in the middle of a breakthrough of Biblical proportions. I don't have time to make nice with Mashburn's latest squeeze."

Grace gasped. "Uh, Mr. Jane, I think you should be aware that Miss Lisbon is actually standing right here. _Within earshot_."

_Sorry, _Grace mouthed, mortified.

She avoided Teresa's infuriated eyes, while Rigsby and Cho rushed inside Jane's office, closing the door quickly behind them.

Impulsively, Teresa went around Grace's desk and pressed the call button on her desk phone.

"May I?" she asked, but didn't wait for permission.

Jane picked up after four rings.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jane. This is Teresa Lisbon. I'd really like to take this opportunity to—"  
"Don't you speak English, woman? Or are you deaf? I said, _now _is not a good time."

"But I really would like to—"

"Don't call me, sweetheart; I'll call you."

"Now, listen, Mr. Jane, this tone you're taking with me is completely uncalled for. I wonder how Mr. Mashburn would—"

He chuckled wryly. "It's starting already. Every time you feel slighted, you'll run to your Sugar Daddy, I just know it. Just goes to show a woman shouldn't work in a man's world."

"Look, we're supposed to be partners. I wouldn't think—"

"That's the problem with you, Miss Lisbon, apparently _thinking_ is not your strongest suit. When a man says no, he means no. Teresa, I don't think you're in Kansas anymore."

"That's Chicago," she ground out.

"Whatever," said Jane. "Now you're wasting my time, honey. Why don't you go sit in your plush new office and file your nails like a good girl. Let the men do the heavy lifting."

"Why you ill-bread, conceited…"

She was so mad she was at a complete loss for words.

"Cad? Scoundrel? Degenerate?" he supplied helpfully.

"I was going to say _pig_!"

"Well, if you're going for simplicity, pig does have a certain mid-western charm."

"Ohhhh!" she sputtered.

"If you're through berating me, could you put Grace on, if you please?"

Lisbon shoved the phone to Grace almost violently.

"Grace, get her away from my office before I decide to fire you."

"Yes, sir," Grace replied with a gulp. She gently put the phone back in its cradle.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Lisbon. I've never known him to be this rude before. I think he's been having a hard time with this hot dog campaign."

"Working hard, I can understand, but clearly he has neither manners nor tact. It's not your fault, Grace. Some men are just pigs!" She said the last loudly enough that he was certain to have heard it through the heavy door.

"I'm sure he'll be in a better mood tomorrow," said Grace hopefully.

"I won't hold my breath."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

It was a good thing she didn't. Teresa tried twice more in the next two days to make peace with the man, but he was having none of it. He refused to speak with her, and she could never quite catch him entering or exiting that damnable office of his. The third day, however, another woman emerged from his office, a beautiful brunette in a form-fitting sheath dress and sexy black pumps. She paused outside Jane's door to retouch her lipstick with an expensive compact.

She smiled at Teresa, straightened her dress, and nodding to Grace, sashayed her ample hips toward the elevator.

Grace shrugged apologetically. If Miss Lisbon could only meet her boss, she would understand why the women were drawn to him like flies to honey.

"Well, I know he hasn't been too busy with actual work," huffed Teresa. "Buzz him, if you please, Grace."

"Really, Miss Lisbon, I don't think that's a good idea. He's probably napping."

"Napping? It's two o'clock in the afternoon!"

She blushed a little as she glanced in the direction the mysterious woman had gone.

Teresa grew red with her own dawning understanding, and bypassing Grace, marched determinedly over to his door. She pounded it hard enough to wake the dead. No chance he could have slept through that.

"Mr. Jane! I demand that you open this door and talk to me like a civilized person!"

"Go away," came his distant, rather groggy reply. "I'm sleeping."

"Ohh! I give up!" She threw up her hands in defeat.

"Finally," said Jane from within, pulling the blanket from the back of the brown leather couch more snuggly around himself. Loretta's weekly _visits _always wore him out. He grinned and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep like a baby.

Meanwhile, Teresa stormed off to her office past Sarah, her new secretary, and slammed the door behind her. The young woman gaped at the disappearing whirlwind, then caught Grace's eye a little ways down the hall. Grace waved and gave a sympathetic smile, as if to say, _welcome to my world._

"Creative types," Sarah muttered to herself.

The next day, Teresa found a memo that Sarah had laid on her desk.

**Interoffice Memorandum**

**From: Patrick Jane, Creative Director**

**Attention: Creative Department Employees**

_It has come to my attention that certain female employees, specifically newly acquired ones, are uncertain as to the manner in which professionals conduct themselves in this company. I feel it is my obligation as Creative Director to direct said employees to MAA's official Employee Handbook, specifically Section 5, Item C. I'm certain complete knowledge and understanding of said Handbook regulations, and indeed, the entire Handbook would be most beneficial in helping certain females to adapt to the ways of the male executives…_

It droned on and on for another page and a half, until at last Teresa Lisbon growled under her breath, rose from her desk, and walked briskly to Grace. She made herself control her temper—this was not Grace's doing, after all—and held the offending memo before the secretary.

"What…is _this_?"

Grace winced. "I'm sorry. He made me take the dictation—"

"Oh, I don't blame _you_. Who else did he send this to?"

Grace looked down guiltily. "Just you," she said, barely above a whisper.

"Well, this is the last straw," she said calmly. "I refuse to work under these exasperating conditions. Mr. Jane's lucky Mr. Mashburn has been on that business trip all week, or I'd have given our boss a piece of my mind. But Mr. Jane's gone too far this time. I am pushed to take drastic measures."

She reached around Grace and pushed the buzzer to open the door.

"No, Miss Lisbon—" said Grace, getting quickly to her feet, but not faster than  
Teresa, who was by then turning the knob and pushing open the door.

"Mr. Jane," she began. "I insist you…"

But he wasn't there. She walked into the washroom adjoining his office (she didn't have one of those), but there was no sign of the infuriating man. She even looked under his desk, just in case the coward was hiding. Instead, she now stood in an office on par with her own (except for the washroom), but the furniture wasn't stark white or mahogany. It was decorated in masculine shades of muted brown, including the well-worn leather couch against one wall. Framed posters of his ad campaigns hung upon the walls, along with a shelf of several advertising plaques and trophies, including the familiar Clio Award.

_So, he had one too._

A busy planning board with multiple pictures of hot dogs and slogans stood behind his desk.

_A cluttered work space was clearly a sign of a cluttered mind, _she thought unkindly.

"I'm sorry, but he's in a meeting with Frank's Franks," said Grace from the doorway. "I'll tell him you came by."

"Don't bother," she said. Then her lips formed a tight smile. "I'll just leave my calling card."

She walked over to his desk and flipped open a leather-bound notebook. Taking the fancy fountain pen from its stand, she drew a simple, though completely recognizable image of a very fat pig. Then she took the memo and shredded it into thin strips, laying it beneath the pig as if it were white hay.

Wiping her hands of the whole mess, literally and figuratively, she walked past Grace and walked with head held high back to her office.

"If the pig wants war, then by heaven, he's got one."

**A/N: Now, I shall toss the next chapter to Nerwen's capable hands. Please let us know if you like this. We're anxious to find out if it's working for you as a reader!**


	2. Surfin' For Trouble

A/N: Nerwen here and I'm so excited that I'm finally writing a fic with the amazing Donna. Hehehe I know what you guys are thinking: where there is Nerwen there has to be enough angst to kill two or three people…well stop your worrying. My angst has been hogtied for this fic, so just enjoy a fun ride.

I never knew that my mom sitting me down to watch old Doris Day movies would lead to something like this. Thanks, Mom! So sit back and enjoy the fun ride, Mentalist style.

**Chapter 2: Surfin' for Trouble**

War had come to Mashburn Advertising Agency and Walter Mashburn was not happy about it. As soon as he'd stepped foot into the building he received several accounts about the battles between Jane and his new co-director. He also knew immediately who probably fired the first shots.

He headed straight for Jane's office, marching past Grace before she could utter a word of protest. His employee and friend was studying his indecipherable board again like an obsession. He normally didn't doubt Jane's methods since he did damn good work, but none of that helped when he was exacerbating an already volatile situation.

"I'm surprised to see you working; seems all you did while I was gone was cause trouble," Walter opened, declaring his presence and his displeasure.

Patrick didn't even move a muscle. "Do you hear me?"

"I choose not to," Patrick replied, still staring intently at the board.

Walter was caught off guard by that response. "Do I need to remind you who is in charge of this company?"

"Of course not but I know you love telling me," he replied before finally turning around to look at his friend. "Now why don't you tell me why you are here so I can get back to work?" But then he held up his hand. "Oh no wait, I think I can guess. The potential Mrs. Walter Mashburn number four must have informed you that I'm not giving her an easy ride."

"_She_ didn't say anything; everyone else in this damn building was more than happy to inform me of your hijinks," Walter explained. "You're determined to drive her away aren't you?"

"I'm merely making sure she understands that she'll have to survive on her own merits instead of using, I presume, her more _physical_ assets."

"She's good, Patrick. Damn good, my gut is telling me that we need her."

Patrick laughed now. "Something is talking to you but I don't think it is your gut."

"This…it's not like that," Walter blustered but Patrick just chuckled some more.

"I'm sure it's not, Walter. And after wining and dining her did you ask her to your hotel room?" Walter didn't say anything and Patrick grinned broadly; he knew his answer. "Of course she turned you down, otherwise she wouldn't be here. She's a crafty broad but I'm not going to let some two-bit in a skirt waltz around here like she owns place because the boss has a crush on her."

"I don't make business decisions on my personal feelings!"

"Didn't you let your second wife decide who handled the Mrs. Gallagher's Soup account?" Jane asked, knowing full well the story already.

"I really thought that Smithe was the right man for that account."

"You just didn't know she was serving up soup to Smithe on the side," Patrick smirked knowingly. "And you wonder why I doubt Miss Lisbon."

Walter snapped up. "Well you shouldn't; she knows what she's doing. And to test her skills, I'm going to give her an account."

"I hear that cupcake bakery is looking for advertisers," Jane replied, turning his attention back to the board. It proved how seriously he was taking this situation.

His friend shook his head, even though Jane wasn't looking at him. "No, I have something special in mind for her. I've been meeting with the representatives for Sea Mist Surfing."

Jane actually did pause and turn to look at Walter. "You're courting a surfing company?"

"It's the biggest brand in Australia," Walter explained, "and thanks to those boys from Hawthorne, every kid under twenty-five wants to get their hands on a surfboard. Their marketing has tripled and now they want to break into the American market while it's hot. This is the national campaign the folks from Madison Avenue dream of."

Patrick knew he might not have been one for the crooning ballads about riding the waves, but he knew when something was popular. The Cineplex was always showing some movie that took place at the beach, and he couldn't get a can of pop at the gas station without hearing another song about surfing.

And Mashburn was going to give this account to a woman?

"You cannot seriously be thinking about giving this account to an unproven woman? What the hell does she know about how to put together a real campaign?"

"You know she can do it."

"For toothpaste. This is huge, Walter. You can't let a woman handle this," Jane told him, practically salivating over this pitch. "It's too big. You know you need to give this to someone you trust."

"I'm going to give this project to the best," Walter assured him.

"That's me."

Walter smiled. "You have hot dogs to sell. Teresa can handle this one."

He turned to leave while Jane voiced his displeasure. "You're making a mistake, Walter. Giving her this account might get her into your bed, but it's going to ruin you."

He stopped and turned back to his friend. "You should meet her, Patrick. Then you'll see she's got more than great gams."

"I'm sure the first thing you noticed about her was her brilliant mind," Jane scoffed. "Don't do this, Walter."

Walter stopped for a moment and then shook his head again. "I want to see what she'll do."

Jane watched his friend and boss leave, still slightly stunned that something like this had happened. He knew Walter would chase any tail he fancied, he also know that when he thought he was in love that he was prone to making rash and stupid decisions. For example, marrying that waitress he met in Alpaca…or marrying at all. But this one took the cake, giving a woman a national campaign on her first week. Walter was probably in her office giving her the good news and encouraging a celebration over champagne in the hopes her gratitude would finally entice her to his home.

He wanted this campaign, if only to once more prove to his friend that there really was only one thing women were good at. And it wasn't playing with the big boys.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Walter Mashburn informed her that he wanted her to take on the Sea Mist Surfing account, Teresa was understandably thrilled with the news. She was grateful that Mr. Mashburn had enough faith in her abilities to take on a major client like this, but she still turned down his offer to a celebratory dinner. While he was handsome and quite charming, she didn't want to give him any ideas. She hadn't come to Sacramento for anything more than to do her job; Walter Mashburn would have to be satisfied with that.

For the moment, she was completely engrossed in learning what she could about Sea Mist Surfing and the man behind the company, Jack King. Unfortunately, being an Australian company, there wasn't very much she could gather beyond his name. She couldn't even find a photograph of the man, but she found out his company was estimated to bring several million dollars a year, and this was all _before_ his products would start showing up in America.

Teresa took a systematic approach with her ideas, jotting them down on a piece of paper or a chalkboard. She composed a neat list of slogans and possible logos to send down to the art department. She would have to consult with them since she wanted to have something to pitch to Mr. King when he arrived Thursday.

The silence in her office was interrupted by Sarah. "Miss Lisbon? Mr. Jane is waiting on the line for you."

Well that was something. After the pains she took to contact him and finally deciding to just let the pig be a pig, _now_ he was responding to her calls. She eyed the phone a little warily but felt a bit of smug satisfaction that it was probably because she was working on the Sea Mist Surfing account. She had a feeling he wasn't calling to congratulate her.

Lisbon primly picked up the telephone. "This is Teresa Lisbon."

"Well, Miss Lisbon, you must be feeling pretty good about yourself," Patrick Jane drawled.

"I wouldn't know what you are talking about, Mr. Jane. I'm merely doing my job."

"I know what you are doing; I'm just wondering if you do."

"Pardon me?" She said, having a feeling this was more about him doubting her abilities…probably because she was a woman.

"This isn't peddling household products, this is a major campaign. If it goes wrong you'll never be able to work in advertising again."

Lisbon bristled at that comment. Of course she was aware of how important this pitch was, but she also had the utmost faith in her abilities. "I'm aware of how important this is, Mr. Jane."

"Then maybe you should consider passing this off to a more seasoned veteran in the business."

"I don't think so. While I might have only been 'peddling household products' for a short time, I know that my ideas will win over Mr. King. I'm willing to forge my own destiny by my own standards."

"Your charms won't be able to help you out of this mess," he warned her.

"I beg your pardon!"

"You heard me."

Teresa was seething now. She was aware of the rumors about how she'd had such success so quickly, but no one had had the nerve to say them to her until now. "Why, you simple-minded cad."

"What happened to pig?"

"I was merely beginning, Mr. Jane," she told him quickly. "In all my life I have never met a man so despicable. You simply cannot believe that a woman is able to play in what is supposed to be man's world. Well then, you'll have a front row seat for this revolution. I'm taking the Sea Mist account and when it succeeds, I personally cannot wait to wipe that smile off of your face with one of those surfboards."

"And when you fall flat on your face, I'll enjoy telling Walter that he needs to stop hiring based on how cold his sheets are."

"I was wrong. You're not a pig, you're a whole sty of them!" She slammed the receiver down with an indignant huff. It took a very long time for her to feel even reasonably calm.

That man was a complete disgrace to the human race. She had half a mind to march to his office right now and give him a real talk about how a woman should be treated. But the best revenge for her would be to prove him wrong…and then smile snidely as he ate his crow.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The battle between Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon still simmered with the women in the office all championing the newest Creative Director. This was a war between the sexes that was unparalleled, and it was only just beginning.

Patrick was still smarting over Walter's decision to give her the surfing account. The man had made irrational decisions regarding the fairer sex before but this was a disaster just waiting to happen. It also didn't help that Walter seemed to be putting a woman in front of their friendship; that had never happened before. He had to prove that hiring Teresa Lisbon was a big mistake.

He was coming back from his long lunch break when he came upon Rigsby talking to Grace again. It was probably the worst kept secret in the office that the man had a thing for Jane's secretary. It was also obvious that Grace reciprocated those feelings but was being the shy woman in the equation. Soon he would undoubtedly push them in the right direction if they didn't figure it out for themselves. For now, it was fun to watch.

As soon as Jane walked up, Rigsby shuffled away quickly, like an errant child.

"Hello, Grace," Jane said as if he had seen nothing. Let them pretend they were hiding their feelings. "Any messages for me?"

"Only from Frank's Franks," Grace told him, "and one for Miss Lisbon that was sent to me by mistake."

That tickled his interest, mostly because he enjoyed the idea of knowing something before Teresa Lisbon did. "I was about to ring up our sister of suffrage. I'll make sure she gets the message."

His secretary was no fool; she eyed him warily, not trusting him at all. But Patrick Jane had the smile that could convince an angel to toss its halo away. It only took a few seconds before Grace blushed prettily and handed him the memo. Jane took the paper gratefully, flashing her a new smile of gratitude before backing into his office to allow Rigsby to go back to clumsily wooing his secretary.

Jane looked over the note in Grace's neat script and couldn't believe the good fortune that had fallen into his lap. Apparently, a family emergency was delaying Jack King's arrival to Sacramento, and he would not be able to meet Teresa Lisbon for dinner that evening.

This was the perfect opportunity to put his own feelers out there and prove to Jack King that the only person who should be handling this account was the one and only Patrick Jane. So he would delay telling Miss Lisbon and use this chance to get in contact with Sea Mist Surfing himself. He could imagine her sitting at that restaurant, waiting for the client who wouldn't come.

Of course he didn't have to imagine it…he could go watch for himself.

Now there was an idea.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Riva Del Fiume_ was by the river just as it name suggested, but it also had exceptional Italian cuisine. It was also one of the priciest restaurants in Sacramento, which meant Teresa Lisbon at least knew how to ply clients with good food and wine. Patrick Jane had brought all of his clients to this very restaurant at some time, himself. That was also why the owner considered him a friend.

Patrick was led into the dining room by the maître d himself and when he asked which table Teresa Lisbon was sitting at he didn't even blink before pointing to the best table in the place, the one that had a breathtaking view of the Tower Bridge.

He should have been annoyed that she was sitting at _his_ table in _his_ restaurant dressed to the nines to impress a client that should have been _his_. He'd planned to sit at an inferior table and laugh behind a menu while she waited impatiently for a client that would never come. That had been his plan from the beginning.

But he hadn't seen her then.

She wasn't at all like he had imagined…which meant he wasn't prepared for the beauty waiting for him. He'd known she must be a looker-Walter would never fall for some plain girl fresh off the farm…but she wasn't the buxom woman he'd imagined, either.

No, Teresa Lisbon was something else. All pale creamy skin contrasting with soft chocolate hair. She was wearing an emerald green evening dress that only highlighted her beauty, not low cut to be too enticing, but it was form- fitting enough to show she had just the right curves that would drive a man insane. He wanted to see her eyes, to see if they really were as green as they appeared even this far away. He wanted to find out if her hair was as soft as it looked.

She was small too. How had such a small woman yelled out insults over the phone? Clearly, she had more spirit than he could give her credit for. That fact only intrigued him more, now that Teresa Lisbon wasn't some pushy upstart wanting to be in at a place she didn't belong. No, now she was an enigma that he had to solve.

The only problem was that she _hated_ him.

That put a stop to any of his plans to go over and talk to the woman. One word out of his mouth and she would be marching out of the restaurant. But all she knew was his voice; she didn't know him beyond that. Well, he could change that simply enough.

Jane ignored the nagging thought in his head that he was about to make a catastrophic blunder of epic proportions as he made his way to the table. He simply came up with the first thing that came to mind: "G'day, ma'am."

Teresa Lisbon turned her head to meet his gaze and he had the satisfaction of knowing her eyes really were as green as her dress…and only served to make her even more beautiful. She smiled sweetly and rose out of her seat. "You must be Mr. King."

Well, he'd spoken in an Australian accent, who else would she think he was?

"Why, yes ma'am," he said as he shook her small hand. Everything about her was small, perfectly so. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lisbon. I look forward hearing what you have to say about my company."

"I look forward to sharing my ideas with you," Teresa told him. Patrick took the opportunity to play the gentleman and pull her chair out for her. "A gentleman, and I'd heard that Australia was full of former criminals and wild natives."

So she could be charming in addition to feisty. "Well, ma'am. The land down under has much to surprise you," Patrick told her, honestly having no idea what he was saying at this point. "We all have our history, but my family has tried to conduct ourselves with honesty."

"I never thought anything else," Teresa told him, "I'd love to hear more about you."

He flashed her his most winning smile and took great satisfaction in noting how lovely she looked when her cheeks blushed a bright pink. "Well ma'am, how can I say no to a lovely sheila such as yourself?"

Her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink and she laughed lightly. Jane was quickly finding himself enraptured by this enchanting creature. It was a blessing that he was gifted with thinking quickly on his feet and he could thank his conman father for teaching him how to spin lies so effortlessly that nearly anybody would believe them.

Patrick didn't know anything about Jack King or living in Australia, but he sure made her believe it as he told her a tale about growing up in the wilds of Australia with kangaroos eating out of the palm of his hand and befriending a wild dingo. "I always loved to spend my days on the beach, watching the waves crash onto the shore. But the only way to truly become in touch with the ocean, to really understand how it can move the soul, was to become one with it."

Teresa was enchanted by his story. "You make it sound magical."

"It's indescribable," he continued, "and I knew that the only way others could understand this was to have them experience it themselves. Which is why I started Sea Mist Surfing. I want to encourage others to understand what it is like to truly be a part of the ocean."

"It's quite a noble thing," she told him, "you make me want to run out into the waves right now."

He smiled, enjoying that image immensely. "I'm sure you would look lovely on the beach."

She blushed and shook her head. "I'm afraid the sun and I have never gotten along very well."

Patrick leaned over the table, putting on his most sensual look. "I would love to reacquaint you, ma'am. Perhaps you started off on the wrong side of the beach; now it's time to meet in the middle."

Teresa couldn't pull her gaze away from him, just stared right back into his eyes, giving him time to drink in the sight of her lovely face. Then she pulled back, nervously taking a sip of her wine, but he could see her pulse was racing. This was a very good start.

"Perhaps I should start telling you some of my ideas for your company," Lisbon began.

She was trying to infuse some level of professionalism back into their conversation, but from the way she was constantly looking at him, they both knew it was for naught.

"I believe the best thing is to let your own love for the ocean speak through your products. Right now, everyone is in love with the beach and surfing, and with the Beach Boys' popularity, it would be easy to simply ride on those coattails, but I don't want your company to fade into the woodwork with the latest craze. We need to make something that will endure. We need to stir more than just excitement; we need to stir their _passion_. Just as you said, the best way to become one with the ocean was to be a part of it."

Jane sat back and studied the woman in front of him, more than a little surprised by her speech. She wasn't saying anything he hadn't thought himself. She was right-an easy fix would be simply to jump onto the bandwagon of the beach movies, but no, she was pitching for something unique, more soul stirring than simple fun in the sun.

Walter had been right about one thing: she might actually be the real deal.

"I love your ideas," Patrick said genuinely, "I think you really know how to sell this company to your Americans. I would love to continue talking with you about how to go on with this."

She grinned happily. "Of course."

But the conversation kept swaying from their plans toward other topics. While she pressed for more information about growing up in Australia, he was just as sly. He asked her questions about herself, not just to keep the subject off of now fictionalized Jack King, but also because he found he genuinely wanted to know how someone such as she had found her place among the top executives in advertising.

"Oh really, there is not much to tell."

"I think you are wrong, ma'am," Patrick told her, "I was very surprised to find I would be working with a woman." He smiled at her gently. "Pleased, but surprised."

Teresa looked a little bashful, ducking her head and lightly fingering the cross that hung around her neck. "Well, Mr. King, I grew up in Chicago with three younger brothers."

"My, your mother had her hands full."

A wave of sadness washed over features. "My mother died when I was young. My father…he never really got over it. It was left to me to take care of them. I had to find a job that paid well and willing to take on a woman so I could put those three boys through college. I'm grateful that I've had the opportunity to prove myself with the Dental-Brite campaign, and now Mr. Mashburn was so kind as to give me an offer I couldn't refuse. Now my brothers will have what they need."

Patrick was stunned once more by Teresa Lisbon. The softness in her tone as she spoke lovingly about her family was unmistakable; she wasn't a scheming hussy trying to claw her way to the top. She was the sweet, motherly older sister that wanted to give her brothers the best possible chance.

"And you?" He asked her gently, "What are you getting?"

She smiled and shook her head. "The satisfaction of helping my family and proving that I'm capable on my own…well that's more than enough for me."

"You're a real class act, Teresa Lisbon," Patrick commented, meaning every word.

Teresa gave him a coy look. "And you're a real gentleman, Mr. King. I thought I'd never see the day."

Patrick leaned over the table, his fingertips just barely touching hers. "I admit, ma'am I didn't think I would ever meet a woman like you when I came to this country. Would it be all right if we talked some more…about business, of course."

Her eyes sparkled as she pulled out a card and swiftly wrote her number on the back. "Of course, Mr. King, I can give you my personal number so we can talk about your company."

When she handed him the card once more, their fingers touched and she found herself quickly adding. "Or anything else you would like."

"Well then, Miss Lisbon," Jane drawled out. "I certainly will ring you."

She was still blushing as she sipped their dessert wine; neither could tear their eyes off each other. Teresa had the distinct feeling that since Mr. King had walked in that this was going to be more than a simple business relationship; she was in danger of being swept away by his charming smile and naïve manner.

Patrick Jane, on the other hand, didn't know what he was doing, just that he was suddenly desperate to get to know Teresa Lisbon beyond the office. And if that meant being someone else, then he would do it.

Even if he knew for sure that he was just begging for trouble.

**A/N: Well we had to make it Australian just so we can all imagine Simon's real voice, LOL. Hope you like how things have been set up with Jane getting into a real mess of his own making. I'm leaving chapter 3 to Donna's magical muse.**


	3. Eyes on the Prize

A/N: Thanks so much for the great reviews! Nerwen and I really appreciate them. So glad you are embracing this new time and place. Things are starting to heat up between our Jane and Lisbon in this chapter. Oh, a special thanks to my good friend, waterbaby134 for the help with Aussie slang. I promised to give her a technical advisor credit, lol.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 3: Eyes on the Prize**

They shared a cab, and Jane made sure Teresa was dropped off first at her downtown apartment building so he would know where she lived. He got out of the car so that she might slide out to the curb, and he helped her to her feet, admiring the way her straight skirt rode up above her knees for a tantalizing moment. He offered to walk her up to her apartment, but she politely refused, though by her expression he could tell she was sorely tempted.

"Thank you for the lift," she said. "I hope that you will call soon."

"Oh, you can count on it, Miss Lisbon."

"Please…call me Teresa," she said, and he was touched by the brief shyness she showed at her own temerity.

"And I'm—" he _almost _said Patrick—"Jack," he finished.

She held out her small hand, and he found himself bringing it up to his lips, lightly grazing her knuckles while he gazed into her eyes. She drew in a quiet gasp and Jane nearly pulled her into his arms right then. But for once, he resisted. This girl was worthy of some extra finessing, and was much classier than his usual quick roll in the hay warranted.

"Good night, Teresa," he said, imbuing all his considerable sensuality into those three words.

"Good…uh…night." She didn't let go of his hand right away, and Jane felt her pulse rate leap at her wrist. He was surprised to find it matched the speed of his own almost exactly

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and she released his in embarrassment. She smiled at him and walked toward the door to the high-rise, Jane admiring the attractive sway beneath her skirt until she disappeared inside.

"Hey buddy, the meter's runnin'," said the impatient cabbie. Jane got back into the taxi and gave the driver directions to his own apartment.

"Jane, my boy," he said to himself, retaining his newly adopted accent, "you've got yourself a bloody ripper of a problem, here, mate."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Thirty minutes later, Teresa received a phone call. She turned off the water of the bath with her toes, and reached for the phone where she'd set it on a towel on the floor.

"Hello?"

It was Jack, and her body flushed all over as she sank further down beneath the bubbles. A vision of his beautiful sea green eyes and beach blonde good looks flashed in her mind, and she smiled.

"Hello, Teresa. Just wanted to tell you again how impressed I was by your ideas for my company. I think we could really make a go of such a campaign. Would you like to meet again, say, tomorrow for dinner? I only have a few days in Sacramento. I'd like to make the most of it."

Her voice pitched low to match his.

"Why, Jack, that would be lovely. When and where?"

He gave her the particulars of a restaurant near the Capitol building. "I was told they have great steaks," he said, and she felt like purring as the smoothness of his accent washed over her, warming her even more than the bathwater.

"I'll see you then, Teresa."

"Good night, Jack. Sweet dreams."

"Oh, I have a good idea what they might be about," he said suggestively. She was glad he couldn't see her cheeks flaming.

"Mine too," she said bravely. There was silence on both ends of the connection, until Lisbon finally offered a reluctant _good-bye_.

"Lord have mercy," she said to herself when they had both finally hung up.

She didn't know how in the world she would ever be able to separate business from pleasure with this man.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Then next morning, Teresa walked past Jane's office, feeling like she was floating on a cloud of happiness.

"Good morning, Grace," she called cheerfully to his smiling secretary.

"Good morning, Miss Lisbon."

When she reached her own office, she smiled and said good morning to Sarah, then opened her door, anticipating her meeting with Jack that evening. She'd barely hung up her coat and hat on the coat rack when her intercom buzzed. She nearly skipped to her desk.

"Yes, Sarah?"

"Mr. Jane is on the line," she said reluctantly.

Teresa's face fell, but she resolutely turned up the corners of her lips. "Put him through, please."

"Miss Lisbon, was that you skipping past my office door just now? I could have sworn I heard someone humming, though it sounded a mite off key..."

"Good morning, Mr. Jane. And might I add that not even _you _can get me out of the good mood I'm in today."

"Aw, I take it your meeting with Sea Mist went well."

"Like a dream," she said honestly. "Jack King loved all my ideas."

"Really? How could you tell? I bet his accent was so thick you couldn't cut it with a machete."

"Not at all. We understood each other very well," she said with a smile. Just thinking about the sound of Jack's voice gave her a little thrill of excitement.

"What is he like, this Jack King? I'd guess middle aged, balding, pot belly from all the beer those Aussies drink…"

"Not at all," she said coolly. "He is young for someone so successful. Charming and handsome too. You could learn a thing or two from a gentleman like him."

"You gotta be kiddin' me. Dollars to donuts the old dingo's just trying to get a peak at what you've got _down under_," he said snidely. She bristled with anger.

"You're obscene. He's nothing like that at all. As a matter of fact, he kissed my hand like a chivalrous knight of old. But I'm sure you wouldn't understand such respectful behavior toward women."

"Oh, I know the kind of respect women deserve. You buy them a good meal, maybe an expensive trinket, and they're putty in your hands. I'll bet King's already planning how to get you into bed. He'll give you some silly excuse to get you up to his hotel room. You'll come willingly enough, since you're so convinced he'll be a _gentleman_. Then, before you know it, you'll wake up alone with a little joey in your pouch."

"I suppose, Mr. Jane, if your mind's in the mud with the pigs, you would think _everything_ is dirty."

"Hey, you're part of the Mashburn family now, sister. Just trying to give you some brotherly advice. Don't trust a guy with an accent, that's all I'm saying."

"While your concern is touching, I think I'll trust my own women's intuition. Now, go back to handling your hot dogs and you let me worry about Sea Mist and Jack King."

"Oh, believe me, Miss Lisbon, I'm very good at handling my hot dog—"

She slammed the phone down so hard in his ear that Jane cringed, then laughed delightedly. As much as he'd enjoyed Teresa Lisbon's sparkling personality the night before, something about the feisty woman on the phone got his blood pumping even more.

His intercom buzzed. "Mr. Jane, a Mr. King from Sea Mist is on the phone."

"Aw, good, patch him through, will ya, Grace?"

A moment later, a man with a thick Australian accent came on the line.

"Mr. Jane. I was sorry to get the message that Miss Lisbon is otherwise engaged, but since I came all this way, I suppose I'll give you a go. Tell Mashburn I'm none too happy with this bait and switch tactic he's pulled."

"I do apologize, Mr. King, but it just couldn't be helped. Mr. Mashburn himself sends his deepest regrets. Now, how about we meet for lunch? I know this excellent diner near the River Park. Serves the best eggs in town."

"Eggs for lunch? You yanks are a strange lot."

Jane chuckled. "Trust me sir, it's that kind of out-of-the-box thinking that'll have every kid in the world begging to buy one of your surfboards."

The man laughed and said a few Aussie phrases Jane could make neither hide nor hair of, then, after telling him the address of the diner, Jane hung up the phone. He rubbed his palms together, very proud of himself for his own cleverness. He always loved being the smartest fella in the room.

It occurred to him ironically that he was the _only_ fella in the room at the moment, but he supposed it didn't make it any less true.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Mashburn admired the delectable Grace before Patrick Jane's desk. There was nothing more beautiful than a lovely woman blushing, especially when it was because of one of his well-placed compliments.

She smiled before moving to press the intercom button. "No," said Mashburn, staying her hand with his. "Let me surprise him."

Seldom could he take Jane by surprise, and it was one of the perks of being the boss that he could barge into Jane's office any time he chose. Grace's pretty face paled considerably, and she glanced nervously at the door. She might very well be out of a job for this. Mr. Jane hated surprises.

"Don't worry about it. I'll smooth things over with Mr. Grumpy Pants in there. Thank you, sweetheart," he said.

"Yes, sir."

When Mashburn entered his office unexpectedly, Jane tried to hide the work he was doing on Sea Mist, but he was well and truly caught. Nothing else to do for it but what he did best—think on his feet.

"What the hell is this?" said Mashburn. "Why are you working on Sea Mist? What the hell have you done with Miss Lisbon?"

"I took what you said to heart, Walter. I offered to help Miss Lisbon with the Sea Mist account, and she gladly accepted."

"What?"

"Yeah, we talked about it over dinner last night."  
"Dinner?" Mashburn's eyes narrowed. He had a tendre for Miss Lisbon, himself, and he certainly didn't want loverboy here moving in on his territory.

"We shared our ideas for the company, and I can tell we're really going to work well together. You were certainly right about her, Walter. She's charming, beautiful and endearingly spunky." He gave his boss a guiless grin.

"Yes…" said Mashburn, suspicious to his marrow. "Wait-I thought she had a dinner appointment with Jack King."

"His plane was late. She met with me instead. We hit it off right away. I should have spoken to her face to face a long time ago; it would have saved us a lot of headaches."

"But…" Mashburn sputtered. It just wasn't fair. If Patrick Jane wanted a woman, all he need do was flash that mesmerizing smile at her and run his fingers through his blonde Little Lord Fauntleroy locks.

"One thing, though, Walter," Jane continued. "I'm actually breaking my promise to her by telling you about all this. Miss Lisbon wants to please you, but she feels in over her head with such a big account her first week on the job. She doesn't want to fail you, so she asked me for a few pointers."

Mashburn's face softened with compassion and as he absently picked up a large board with the outline of a surfer atop a surfboard. "The poor thing. She needn't be frightened of disappointing me. I'll tell her—"

"No!"

Mashburn started at his sudden bark of protest, dropping the picture board in surprise.

"I mean," Jane amended, much more levelly, "She'd be embarrassed to death if she knew you'd found out about our little arrangement. Let me build up her confidence a bit, then I'm sure she'll come to you on her own."

Mashburn hesitated. He'd never met a better liar than Patrick Jane, but something in him seemed very sincere, especially when he sang the praises of Teresa Lisbon.

"Oh, all right. But keep me updated, will ya? I am the boss, remember. I like to know what's going on in my own company."

Jane put a hand on Mashburn's shoulder and took the picture board from him with the other. Jane steered him back toward the door.

"Yes, yes, I know," he said soothingly. "You're definitely the boss. I'll do my best to keep you informed."

"Good, very good," Mashburn said, surprised to find that he was suddenly standing outside of Jane's door. He snapped out of his momentary daze. _How the hell did he do that? _ "But I warn you, Patrick, no funny stuff with Miss Lisbon. I've got a conference to go to for a few days, so I trust you to keep things civil and strictly business with her."

"You can count on me, Walter. Don't worry about a thing."

"All right then."

But Jane's door had already closed behind him. Mashburn reddened slightly when he looked at Grace, who was staring back at him with trepidation. She was waiting for the other shoe to drop, with Mr. Jane buzzing her to read her the riot act.

"Have a nice day, Grace," said Mashburn, covering his embarrassment by giving her a little salute and strolling purposefully back toward his office.

Grace jumped when the intercom buzzed. She swallowed hard.

"Yes, Mr. Jane?"

"You're not in trouble, Grace," he said calmly.

"Thank you sir," she said with a relieved smile. _How did he do that?_

"But don't let it happen again."

"Yes sir."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The lights of the Capitol building were beautiful as Jane and Teresa took a stroll after their delicious steak dinner. He had been a perfect gentleman at dinner, though he teased her that they were eating kangaroo steaks. He was so charming, so intelligent, so enthusiastic about her ideas for his company. After they'd emptied a bottle of wine and sat at their table chatting until the restaurant closed around them, neither of them wanted to leave the other's company. If they were honest with themselves, it had felt much more like a date than a business dinner.

Outside in the cool night air, Jane held out his arm for her to take. She slipped her hand through it and walked slowly beside him, breathing in his enticing sandalwood cologne.

"My hotel is a block down the street," he said softly. "The view of the Capitol from up high is incredible, especially at night. You really should see it."

_He'll give you some silly excuse to get you up to his hotel room. You'll come willingly enough, since you're so convinced he'll be a gentleman._

Jane's infuriating words came out of nowhere to echo in her brain. Was that blowhard really right? Was Jack just trying to romance her into his bed? At her hesitation, Jane stopped suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to her, his handsome face earnest in the light of the streetlamp.

"Teresa, forgive me. I'm sure that invitation sounded entirely too forward. I assure you, I respect you immensely, and wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable. Perhaps another time…when we know each other a little better."

Teresa looked up into his face, feeling as if he'd beguiled her somehow, that she was under the strange spell of his exotic accent and sea-green eyes. But bewitched or not, she certainly wasn't ready to go the hotel room of a near stranger, especially not with half a bottle of wine in her.

"Yes," she finally said upon a relieved sigh. "Perhaps another time."

He smiled gently at her, but the effect on her heart of even one of his small smiles was enormous, and she felt her pulse pounding at her throat. Something of what she was feeling must have shown in her eyes, for Jack suddenly reached up and touched her cheek. In the romantic light of that streetlamp, she felt the attraction humming between them like a tangible thing, and her eyelids fluttered closed against the intensity of his gaze. Her breath caught at the first touch of his mouth on hers.

He molded his full lips to hers for a moment, and were she not so immensely attracted to him, it would have been, by most women's standards, a very chaste kiss. The one hand on her cheek moved to slide briefly into her hair before he released her and stepped away.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, as if from a distance. She gripped his arm suddenly for balance, made dizzy by his nearness, by his scent, by the wine. Her eyes slowly opened. "This was entirely too soon…"he was saying.

"No," she managed. "Don't apologize."

She could think of nothing else to say. She wasn't sorry, and she hoped beyond reason that he wasn't either.

"I'll uh, hail you a cab," he said, and she could have sworn he sounded just as shaken as she was. He stepped toward the curb of the street and she felt bereft and off balance without his arm to hold.

She wanted with all her heart to tell him that she would gladly go back to his room with him, that it didn't matter that they'd just met. Her mother had always told her that someday a little voice in her head would tell her when it was right, and Teresa's womanly instincts were fairly screaming at her that Jack King was the only man for her.

When he handed her into the taxi, he squeezed her hand and looked deeply into her eyes.

"I had a lovely time," she said from the back seat, the car door still open.

"Me too, little shelia," he drawled sensually. "May I call you tomorrow?"

"Yes, please do. I should have the full presentation ready for you by the afternoon."

"Good. Perhaps we could meet again."

"I'd like that."

Suddenly, they were both at a loss for words for the first time that evening. It wasn't exactly awkward, but their parting seemed bittersweet for so new an acquaintance.

"You sure you don't want a lift to your hotel room?"

He smiled knowingly at her, and she blushed at her transparent suggestion. She was terribly reluctant to let him go.

"No, ma'am. I'd best take a walk to uh, clear out the cobwebs." His grin turned sheepish. He let loose of her hand and shut the cab door, and she quickly rolled down the window.

"Good night, Jack."

"Good night, Teresa." Her eyes widened to see he how much he didn't want her to leave either. "Tenth and _J _Street," he said, giving the cab driver the address of her apartment building.

As the car pulled away, he held up a hand in a wave, and she returned it with a smile.

Jane watched her taxi until it was out of sight, then he turned back toward the restaurant where he'd parked his car earlier.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

Back in her apartment again, she was delighted to hear the phone ring, even though it was eleven o'clock and she had to get up for work the next morning.

"Hello?" she said dreamily.

On the other end of the line, Jane felt a jolt at the sound of her husky voice, and he hesitated a moment.

"Hello?" she repeated.

He covered the mouthpiece to clear his throat, then: "Well it's about time you got home," he said, sans Australian accent. "I've been trying to reach you all evening."

"Mr. Jane? How did you get my home number?"

"It was simple enough," he said evasively. "Pretty late to be out on a school night, isn't it Miss Lisbon?"

"What are you, my father? Not that it's any of your business, but my meeting with Mr. King went so well, it ran a little late."

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"What do you want, Mr. Jane?" she asked through clenched teeth.

She obviously didn't like his suggestive tone, and Jane smiled.

"Masburn is going to be out of town for a few days, and, being his second in command," he lied, "he asked me to get updates on the Sea Mist account. Given all these fancy _late_ dinners the company is paying for, I trust you've tied up the deal by now?"

"I think I can say with some confidence that Mr. King is pleased with my work so far. I'll give him the formal presentation tomorrow afternoon."

"Good. Should Mashburn call, I'll let him know."

"Fine. Now, as you pointed out, it's very late…"

"All right, but before I go, I was just wondering if King is as much a gentleman as you thought. I mean, it _is_ very late," he mockingly reiterated.

"You know, Mr. Jane, I'm very glad you mentioned that. Mr. King had every opportunity to proposition me or take advantage, but he was a prince through and through. So I'll hear no more aspersions cast on his good name, or _mine_ for that matter."

Jane chuckled, secretly delighted. "You must really like this fella to defend him so…ardently."

"I certainly do. He is a fine man, the perfect—"

"_Gentleman_—so I've heard, ad nauseum. Sounds deadly dull to me. Or maybe he's not exactly the marrying kind, if you take my meaning."

"What?" she said, outraged at the implication.

"Simmer down. I'm sure it has nothing to do with you. Some men just have certain…proclivities…"

"I'm hanging up now, Mr. Jane."

"All I'm saying is, it sounds to me-based solely on your voice, mind you—that a man would have to be completely uninterested in the fairer sex not to have at least made a pass—"

"Who says he didn't?" And she snapped her mouth closed at the admission.

Jane laughed. "Ah-ha! Just what I suspected. The fact that you didn't bring it up tells me he must not have been too impressive in his romantic overtures."

"That's not-I'm not discussing this with _you_, of all people. Good-night, Mr. Jane!" She hung up the phone.

Jane grinned. He was coming to love when she did that. His lips quirking mischievously, he dialed her number again. Teresa picked up on the first ring.

"You are the most ill-bread, ill-mannered, obnoxious—"

"Teresa?" said Jane, as Aussie Jack. "Is that you?"

She gasped. "Jack? Oh my gosh! I'm terribly sorry. I thought you were someone else."

"Crikey! What kind of bloody idiot would inspire such anger from that otherwise sweet mouth of yours?"

"Ohhhh," she nearly growled. "A man I work with. He is completely insufferable."

"Just give me his name, and I'll find him and make the bastard very soory. I'll tear him limb from limb-just say the word."

Teresa found herself laughing in wonder at his passionate response.

"Oh, Jack. If only you could beat this pig into propriety. Thank you for the offer, but I'm fully capable of handling Patrick Jane."

"Jane, eh? Sounds like a poofter to me."

Teresa laughed again at the irony, but was more than ready to change the subject. "I'm sure you didn't call to hear me mistakenly berate you…"

"No, I was just worried that I might have somehow offended you."

She felt her body tremble at the memory of their brief kiss. "On the contrary," she said breathlessly, "I had a wonderful time."

"Good. So did I. I'm looking forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"Me too. Good night again, Jack."

"Good night."

Both of them hung up with a warm glow around their hearts.

For Jane's part, he was beginning to feel terribly confused. His meeting that day with the real Jack King had been very gratifying, especially when he'd presented the preliminary ideas that Teresa had formulated as his own. King had been impressed and praised him highly. He could use this process to win over their most important new client in years, securing Jane's place as lead man in Creative.

The Sea Mist account could boost them to a whole new level, just like Masburn had been hoping for. He could make Teresa Lisbon look like an utter fool, an amateur, using her own work to do it. When his plan was complete, Mashburn would have no choice but to lay her off, leaving Jane as the sole Creative Director once more.

This had been his plan the moment she'd mistaken him for King, and it was coming together beautifully. When Teresa gave him her presentation tomorrow, he'd take it right across town to King and pass it off as his own. It would be so gratifying to kick her out on her sweet little behind.

So why did the mere thought of hurting her that way feel like he'd been kicked in the gut? Jane poured himself a scotch and sat in his empty apartment, consciously forcing himself to push aside his annoying feelings of guilt.

"Keep your eyes on the prize, Paddy," he told himself. "Everything else is just collateral damage."

But it took another two glasses of scotch before he actually believed it.

**A/N: So, there are some mixed emotions going on between our couple. We'll see if Jane can double talk himself out of this mess. Please log in and let us know what you think. Thanks for reading!**

**Now, back to Nerwen…**


	4. The Third Wheel Falls Off

A/N: Whoo this chapter gave me a few fits, it just did NOT want to cooperate with me but I finally got going with it and I'm happy with how it turned out hehehe. Enjoy and yes poor Walter is taking the place Tony Randall LOL.

Chapter 4: The Third Wheel Falls Off

Teresa was practically humming when she began her day; there was no hiding her jubilant mood, the same one she had been sporting for the past few days, actually.

"Good morning, Sarah," Lisbon greeted her secretary happily as she shuffled her briefcase to her other hand.

Sarah perked up as soon as she saw her boss and she noticed more than just her good mood.

"Hello, Miss Lisbon. You look especially nice today."

"Why, thank you."

The shrewd secretary studied her carefully. "You're meeting someone, aren't you?"

Teresa tried to keep a professional expression on her face but it was difficult for her to suppress her happy smile. "I'm merely meeting Jack for lunch this afternoon to continue looking over my plans for the campaign."

"Jack?" Sarah asked, "You call him _Jack_?"

The other woman blushed immediately. First names certainly implied a personal rather than professional relationship. Her secretary pressed further with a sly grin. "Just what is going on between you and the king of surfboards?"

"Nothing untoward," Lisbon explained, "We've been discussing my ideas over dinner."

But Sarah didn't buy that for a minute and Teresa couldn't really blame her. She'd never been particularly good at lying and right now she looked exactly like a woman deliriously happy with infatuation.

"Is that all?"

Teresa wasn't sure about telling her secretary the whole story, but Sarah gave her a sweet look. "Don't worry, Miss Lisbon; I won't tell a soul."

She still hesitated, but felt the lure of the companionship of a female friend, something she hadn't had in a while. That, and she really did want to share her excitement.

"Sarah, you cannot imagine what a gentleman he is."

"Do tell," Sarah said, picking up her half-eaten pastry as if preparing for a good, long story.

"I just didn't expect to meet someone like him," she admitted. "He's so polite and refined; he's not like anyone I've ever met."

"Sounds like you made quite a catch."

Teresa couldn't help but grin. "Right now we are simply working on the advertising campaign for his company."

Sarah ignored the obvious intent for the future and instead asked the very important question. "Has anything happened?" Lisbon blushed immediately, which was answer enough.

"What?"

She looked around as if to check to see if someone was walking by, but of course the two of them were alone. She leaned in closer and said very softly, "He kissed me. Just once."

Sarah's eyes lit up and she hid a smile behind her coffee cup. "But nothing beyond that?"

"Are you opposed to that idea?"

"We've only just met," Teresa reminded her, "and we have a business transaction to deal with first."

"What about when business is finished?"

The corners of her lips curled into a warm smile. "Well, we'll just have to see. I can't be sure how he feels about me yet."

Sarah was about to say something else, but then her attention was drawn away to something behind Teresa. Her expression abruptly changed to a smirk.

"I think we are about to find out."

Teresa turned around to see one of the men from the mailroom carrying a very large bouquet of red roses. A thrill rushed through her body; the showy bouquet was a clear indicator of his intentions, at the very least. Apparently the man delivering the flowers agreed.

"Miss Lisbon," he said in greeting, "someone really likes you."

He set the flowers on the desk and shook out his limp wrist, exaggerating how heavy they had been.

The two women were perfectly still while waiting for the man to leave, but once he was gone, they both pounced on the bouquet. They were sadly disappointed to find the card blank.

"He didn't leave his name," Sarah said.

Teresa felt that disappointment herself but then came to a quick and satisfying conclusion. "It wouldn't be proper since we are working together right now. It's actually very sweet really; he doesn't want to cause a scene."

Sarah accepted that conclusion quickly, eyeing the bouquet with a bit of envy. "Well, he certainly must like you."

She grinned happily, lifting the bouquet to take it into her office with her so she could admire it while she put the finishing touches on her presentation.

It certainly made it difficult to concentrate as the roses filled her office with their perfume; it only heightened her already feverish anticipation of that afternoon. They were going to have a late lunch to discuss her proposals for the campaign in a private section of nearby bistro. She couldn't stop thinking about being alone with him, wondering what would happen. Would he kiss her again?

It thrilled and frightened her that she desperately wanted the answer to be _yes_.

_Get back to work, _she ordered herself_, otherwise you'll have nothing to show him. _

It took a lot of effort to block out the thrilling fantasies her imagination was conjuring up, but she'd always succeeded whenever she put her mind to a task.

Two hours of work passed in a busy and satisfying blur when only occasionally did she look up to smile at her roses. It was only the sound of her phone ringing that pulled her out of it, her heart pounding. Was it him? She picked up the phone, barely controlling her shaking fingers, and answered with a soft: "Hello?"

"Teresa?"

Her heart sank a little when she recognized the voice of Walter Mashburn and not that of Jack King. "Mr. Mashburn, how nice to hear from you," she said, not truly meaning the words. It wasn't fair really; he couldn't help not being Jack.

"I'm glad to hear that, Teresa. I've been anxious to return to Sacramento and find out how you are holding up with the Sea Mist account…among other things."

She could handle a simple update on her business proposal. "Everything is going smoothly, I have a meeting with Jack…King," She tacked on the last name quickly, her cheeks flaming with her near slip. "I'm meeting him this afternoon for a late lunch. He'll listen to my initial proposal, and if he likes it, we will start ironing out the final details of the campaign."

"That sounds great."

But Lisbon noticed that he was oddly distracted. At first she wondered if he was doubting her abilities to handle this campaign. It wouldn't be the first time. But nothing prepared her for his next statement.

"Did you get the flowers?"

Teresa gaped at the impressive display of flowers in front of her. "Flowers?" she asked, her heart sinking at what this meant. "I…I got some roses."

He sighed in relief. "Wonderful, I hope you enjoyed them."

She was quiet as she tried to muster up some form of respect toward his gift-not easy when she was sadly disappointed after learning the true identity of her admirer.

"Uh, yes…of course I did."

Teresa bit down on her tongue, embarrassed by how obviously hollow her voice sounded. All she could do was quietly hope that Mashburn wasn't quite so perceptive.

But the silence that followed doomed her.

"Well," Mashburn said awkwardly. "I'm glad."

Teresa shuffled the phone a bit, feeling terrible for obviously hurting his feelings, but she couldn't quite work up complete guilt. Disappointment was still winning the battle for her emotions, along with a bit of anxiety. If Mashburn had sent her flowers…then why hadn't Jack?

She shook her head, trying to clear her troubling thoughts. It was ridiculous to be upset with Jack over something he hadn't done, when he'd done nothing wrong. It was even worse to punish Mashburn for his actions, so she put on a cheerful voice.

"Well, thank you, Mr. Mashburn, for the lovely flowers. I promise you I'm working very hard on this campaign, so you'll have something to be proud of."

"I'm sure," he replied, but still sounded a little down.

With a sigh of regret, not only for hurting him, but also for her lost hopes, they both said goodbye and hung up. Teresa was a little more glum that she didn't have the lovely flowers to remind her of Jack anymore.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane was busy trying to prepare his own campaign for the real Jack King, but even that failed to keep his mind off the meeting with Teresa later that day. As much as he told himself that this was just a ruse to prove to Walter that she wasn't up to the task, as well as securing himself the campaign of a lifetime, he knew that in this game he was quickly becoming the one being played. Especially when he was suddenly desperate to see her again.

The sound of his phone ringing was actually a relief; it meant that he had to focus on something else besides trying to remember how soft and yielding her lips were. He answered the phone with a curt, "Patrick Jane," angrier at himself than the person who'd interrupted him.

"What have you done to her?"

Walter Mashburn's accusation was surprising at first, but Jane quickly jumped to a terrifying conclusion: he must have found out about Jane's new identity. Oddly enough, the only thing Jane truly cared about was what Teresa thought about him; his job and all other ethics seemed secondary.

"What have I done to whom?" He asked, staying calm while he mentally prepared any possible lies or stories.

"Teresa-you're chasing after her, aren't you?"

No, this wasn't good, not at all. "Is that what she said?"

Mashburn faltered and Jane began to think maybe his initial assumption was wrong. "No…but she didn't seem happy when I asked about the flowers."

That caught Jane's attention. "Flowers?" An unfamiliar emotion was bubbling up inside of him, a bitter angry feeling. "You sent her flowers?"

"Yeah, and I got the feeling she thought they were from someone else. Admit it! You're after her."

"Is that what she said?" he repeated.

"No, but you said you were interested in her."

Jane began to relax a little as it became clear that Walter had no idea what was really going on. Teresa was far too moral to have told him the name of her suitor, and no one but him knew that the Jack King she knew was actually Patrick Jane.

"Well Walter, I'm certain if you asked her about me she'd tell you exactly what she thought about me."

Walter was silent on the other line for a moment as he considered what Jane had said. It didn't take him long to come to the right conclusion. "She still doesn't like you?" Jane gritted his teeth at how happy he sounded. "I thought you said you were interested."

"It's hard to overcome a bad first impression," Jane told him truthfully, "but I'm sure I'll succeed soon."

Walter grunted at that comment, at least slightly mollified knowing that Jane hadn't stolen what he considered his…yet. "Then who else could it be? Someone at the office? Maybe that tall one?"

"Rigsby?" Jane actually started laughing now.

"Yeah, that one."

"I doubt it," he assured him. "I don't think he's taken his eyes off my secretary to even notice Teresa." That part was probably true.

He was quiet again as he probably went through other names in his mind before finally settling on an interesting choice. "What if it's Jack King?"

_Oh, Walter_, Jane thought ruefully, _How close and yet so far_.

"You think that she's interested in our client?"

"He's rich and foreign."

"And several years older than her," Jane pointed out. Then a tempting thought came to mind and Jane couldn't resist. Not only would he be able to play with Walter's mind a little bit, but it would also help ease that uncomfortable feeling that was suspiciously close to jealousy. "But if you are so concerned, you can try and weed out the competition tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes you are coming back tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes, but—."

"Well, we'll be meeting Jack in Malibu, trying out his product the old- fashioned way, and convincing him that we are the ones who should be handling his advertising campaign."

"I can't surf!"

Jane smiled while keeping his voice low. "Well, that's all right. I'll tell Jack you can't come. I'm sure when he tells Teresa she'll be very sympathetic…"

"I'll be there," Mashburn said immediately.

"Wonderful," Jane replied jovially. "I'll tell King you'll be there."

"You do that."

They both hung up with only one of the men actually satisfied. Jane was actually chuckling, enjoying the image of Walter attempting to surf. At the very least Walter had succeeded in distracting him from the complications his charade was getting himself into.

And he'd done a little thinning of the competition, himself.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Any disappointment Teresa had felt was gone once she met Jack at the chosen restaurant; it certainly thrilled her to see he'd brought his own bouquet of white roses. He was still the consummate gentleman, helping her into her chair and lingering just a little when his fingers touched her bare skin.

It took a while for her cheeks to fade from red after that.

The conversation flowed easily but didn't settle on the business campaign, not for a long time. They were far too interested in their personal lives, flirting and enjoying each other's company. It was so easy to forget that they were supposed to be having a business meal, but there was no way they could deny the instant attraction that flared between them.

In the end, it was Jack who pointed out the obvious. "Well, sheila, we did come here for a reason, but I'm having a hard time remembering what that was."

Lisbon laughed lightly and nodded. "I'm having the same problem." She sighed, at least content with the current moment. "But you are right; I still have a job to do."

Jack nodded and brushed his plate aside. "Well, I'm all ears."

She folded her hands on the tabletop and dredged up her business-like manners, at least as much as she could when all she wanted was to reach across the table and take his hand in hers. It took a lot of effort to restrain herself, but somehow she managed to keep her thoughts to herself.

Instead, she spent the next half hour explaining her idea, starting with the TV campaign that would be broadcast first in the coastal cities of California, eventually broadening across the country. The first thing she wanted to do was whet the appetite of the key audience. Once that started, the real blitz could begin: radio, billboards, magazines-the possibilities were limitless, really.

But it all started with the television ad that had to be a true masterpiece.

"Start off with a surfer," Teresa explained, "someone ordinary but clearly experienced. The sun shining on the sand the simple sound of the waves crashing on the shore.

"Then a voiceover. Simple but poignant." She smiled softly now. "Very much like you said the night we met. The one way to become in touch with the ocean…is to become one with it."

Jack sat up straighter, his eyes lit with the thrill of something. "I think you have an amazing idea, Teresa."

She grinned, her hear racing now. "Really?"

He nodded. "The ad needs to follow the surfer into the water, touching on the small parts, not on the person itself but—."

"The water," Lisbon finished for him. "The way it crashes onto the surf."

"When it sprays onto the board."

"The white mist as the waves crest."

"Exactly."

She felt her own thrill, the same feeling when the Dental-Brite commercial had fallen into place. "And it needs to end with something profound. _Sea Mist. Don't just ride the wave—"_

"Become it," Jack finished for her.

Their gazes locked and they couldn't help but smile, not just at the knowledge that they had created something incredible, but also because they had done it together. _Together,_ that was a word that Lisbon really liked thinking about at the moment. A lot.

"So…" she began gently, "do you like it?"

"I love it," he told her honestly, "It's perfect. Better than I could have imagined on my own."

She found that last statement a little odd, but dismissed it just as quickly. "Then I'm assuming that you'll want to work with me on this campaign."

Jack grinned now. "I don't believe I have any choice."

The meal didn't last much longer after that, with the waiter interrupting their happy moment. She paid the check on the company's account and they both reluctantly left the restaurant. There was a rather awkward moment as they stood on the sidewalk, both trying to figure out what to do next, caught between professionalism and their own budding flirtation.

It was Jack who broke the silence with a wistful sigh. "I'm a bloody idiot."

"What?" Lisbon asked, genuinely confused by his statement.

"I should have lied. A smarter man would have said your ideas were good but needed more work," Jack explained. "It would mean that I could spend more time with you."

She blushed and her heart started thrumming in her chest again at Jack's confession. "Well, Jack, you know that we don't need to use business as an excuse to spend time together."

"Don't we?"

"No." She shook her head. "In fact, I have a feeling we would both prefer it that way."

His beautiful eyes darkened and he took a couple of steps closer to her. "A consummate professional would not kiss you right now."

"We just said we wouldn't be professional anymore." Lisbon reminded him. She was the one who took the last step separating them, pushing up onto her toes so she could press her lips against his.

This was not the simple chaste kiss of before; no, this time they were both fueled by the attraction that had simmered between them all afternoon. It was passionate but languid at the same time, building a fire before it became an inferno.

His taste was intoxicating, more potent than any expensive liquor, more addictive than any drug. She pressed closer to get more of him, her body soon wrapped up in his arms. Now she could add his electrifying touch to the list of things she loved about him.

She tangled her fingers into his soft blonde curls, sighing a little when he urged her to open her lips so he could deepen the kiss. It was heady and quickly steering into territory that was far too unseemly for public street corners. But Teresa didn't give a damn; she just wanted to stay like this, feeling this whirlwind of caresses and warmth.

But Jack had a clearer head, or at least was more aware of their surroundings. He gently pushed her away, keeping a hold on her hands while they both breathed heavily.

"You make me forget where we are," he whispered.

"We both have that problem," she replied, her lips swollen and tingling from his kiss.

Jack sighed and stepped back. "I…I should get back to my room."

Lisbon moved closer to him, very tempted to suggest that she go with him. It wasn't proper, nor was it anything like the serious and stable person she had decided to be. But she didn't care; he made her want to be reckless and wild. Right now all she wanted was to feel her skin against his in a tangle of sheets.

Somehow Jack knew what she wanted. "Not now, Teresa." She must have looked disappointed because he quickly clarified. "I want to, I do, you have _no_ idea how much…but you're different. You're special to me and I…I need to treat you as such."

She was stunned by his words, the gentle cadence of his voice and the gravity of his emotions. But he meant them; she didn't doubt that in the least. While a part of her screamed for more, she was touched more than ever by a man who wanted to treat her with respect.

"Are you upset?" he asked her.

"No," she told him honestly, "I'm impressed. You really are like no man I've ever met."

"And you're not like any woman _I've_ ever met," he replied.

"Then perhaps it's a good thing we found each other."

Jack nodded. "Quite." Lisbon moved to press closer and maybe start kissing him again, but he stepped back with a shake of her head. "I believe you should go back to your office, little sheila. Or we'll do something we might regret."

"I'm not so sure," she pointed out.

He grinned then. "No, but it needs to be more than this."

It was frustrating, but he was right. It needed to be special, better than just a quick midday tryst in his hotel room. He was more than that._ They_ were more than that."

"Very well. I'll go back to work and remember I am a professional," she told him. "Or at the very least, try to."

Jack smiled and kissed her once more, very briefly but still enough to thrill her. Somehow a cab materialized beside them and he placed her inside. Lisbon's head was still spinning; she wasn't sure if he'd told the driver where to take her or if she had. She spent the whole ride to her office reliving every second of that kiss.

And imagining what the future would bring.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane spent the hours and minutes after leaving Teresa, battling his own instincts. It had taken every ounce of his impressive control to keep from grabbing her hand, throwing her into a cab, and finding the nearest bed so he could finally satiate his growing hunger for her. The worst part was, he knew very well that she was more than willing.

As much as he wanted to be with her like that, Jane couldn't do it. Not now, not when it seemed so tawdry. While meaningless affairs had always sufficed for him over the years, with Teresa Lisbon, he found himself craving something more. Something…_real_.

Unfortunately, that seemed impossible, since she was quickly falling in love with Jack King, who was actually Patrick Jane, a man she despised.

Jane didn't have too long to dwell on the circumstances surrounding his relationship with Teresa Lisbon. He had to head down to Malibu and enjoy a surfing meeting with the real Jack King and Walter, the latter of whom looked very uncomfortable holding a surfboard.

But Jane wasn't. He'd spent quite a bit of time on the beach and he'd found the challenge of surfing quite exhilarating. He hadn't indulged in his childhood hobby as often as he would have liked, but it didn't take long for him to get back into the saddle, so to speak.

Of course, the real expert was Jack King. Despite his age, he was very sure of himself in the water. Of course, he was using one of his company's boards. But there was no doubt that he truly loved this. Being out on the water, it was quite freeing. Jane could share that emotion.

Walter didn't. He spent the time trying to figure out if Jack King was trying to romance the new lady in his life, not knowing that the true danger was the other man next to him. "Has he said anything about Teresa?"

"No," Jane reminded him, "all he's spoken about is how the waves are much better in Torquay."

"Maybe you should try talking to him alone."

"Walter, this is supposed to be a business meeting," Jane said. "Why are you obsessing about Teresa Lisbon?"

"I'm not obsessing."

Jane restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Sure he wasn't, and he hadn't had to listen to a minute description of the woman. Not only was it annoying, but Walter was completely wrong. Her eyes weren't like jade; they were deeper and shined brighter, more like beautiful emeralds that refracted the sunlight.

And when Walter wasn't giving out inaccurate descriptions of Teresa's beauty, he was trying to figure out if King was the one pursuing her. He spent the time in the water hanging back, trying to balance on his board and watching King with calculating caution.

King paddled over to them, enjoying the invigorating morning. "Are you blokes going to join in?"

"Of course," Jane told him smoothly, "but I admit, my own abilities pale in comparison to yours."

"You're right good on the board," King said, "Bit more time and you'll be an Ace."

"A high compliment from you," Jane replied.

"And you, Mashburn? The waves aren't goin' to stay like this for long."

Jane shrugged. "Walter is new to this."

"A beginner, eh?" King replied, "Well, I'll take him out and show him what to do."

"No, no!" Walter cut in. "I'm sure I can do it."

"Walter don't be an idiot," Jane cut in, "you'll get yourself hurt."

Walter shook his head, leaning in to say to Jane quickly. "I'm not going to let this man romance one of my employees and then hold my hand in the water too. I'll show him."

"By drowning?"

"You don't understand," Walter said, "you've never been in love."

He was right, but Jane was beginning to wonder if that was going to be the case for much longer. What he didn't understand was why Walter was going to act so incredibly stupid!

But Walter was already paddling out to face one of the waves, trying to replicate the same moves he'd watched Jane and King do several times already. It was probably a stroke of luck that he'd actually managed to catch the wave at just the right moment, so he was beginning to be carried back towards the shore. Then he made the mistake of trying to stand up.

As soon as he struggled to his feet, he lost his balance and the board shot out from under him.

Jane quickly paddled over, more afraid that his friend would be hurt if the board had hit him on the head. Thankfully, Walter came sputtering to the surface; the only thing hurt was his pride.

"You could have been killed," Jane told him angrily.

Walter coughed a little, letting out some water. King came paddling up himself, looking over the man.

"You don't know what you are doing out here, galah."

"Oh he knows that now," Jane assured him, "Walter is going to head back to the beach and enjoy some sun." His friend didn't like being ordered around, but he was still feeling like a complete idiot for almost getting killed like that.

It was with a chastened heart that Walter paddled back to the shore.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walter Mashburn would have preferred to have kept the surfing incident private, but unfortunately, the next day everyone was at least partially aware that he'd had miserable time. And Jane hadn't had to say a word-it was all over Walter's face…and arms, and back.

He'd ignored the cardinal rule of the beach: the sun was even fiercer while in the water. At the moment, Walter resembled a boiled lobster more than he did a member of the human race.

"Mr. Mashburn!" Grace Van Pelt exclaimed as soon as she saw him. "Are you all right?"

"Fine, just fine…just tell my secretary to get me some coffee…and some aloe vera."

A/N: Oh Walter, real love shouldn't be that hard. I admit, I had fun having him get hurt like that hehehe. Well I hope you liked it. Next chapter is Donna's and I'm just as excited as you to see what she comes up with next ;-)


	5. Jack, Be Nimble

A/N: There might have been some technical difficulties with the chapter alerts for the last chapter, so if you feel like you're missing something, you might want to go back to chapter 4 before going very far in this one. Thanks for the great reviews, by the way—Nerwen and I really appreciate your support and encouraging words.

Things heat up to a fever pitch this chapter, so I'm jumping this chapter's rating to an "M" near the end. I do try to be more on the sexy side than on the raunchy, so fear not, new followers! I hope you enjoy this. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.

**Chapter 5: Jack, Be Nimble**

"Hello, beautiful," said Jack King into the phone.

On the other end of the line, Teresa swiveled slowly from side to side in her desk chair, as his sensual voice washed over her like the sea he loved so much.

"Hello, Jack."

"I haven't stopped thinking of you since yesterday. Second-guessing myself I should say."

She smiled, blushing at his words. "Second thoughts about going with this firm?" she asked coyly.

He chuckled. "I think you know very well what I regret, and it's not your world class campaign."

"Hmm," she said. "Maybe we could talk more about that campaign over dinner." Teresa leaned back in her chair, propping her high-heeled pumps on her desk. She imagined him sitting in his hotel room on his bed, his blonde hair gently disheveled by his own hands.

Teresa felt exhilarated by her own forwardness.

"I would like that very much, love."

Her heart pounded at what she found herself poised to ask. "You know, I make a very good red sauce. Do you like pasta?"

"With my whole heart."

"Well, I hope I don't disappoint you. Please, come to my place and let me cook dinner for you."

"I'd be honored."

The silence that followed was filled with a tension that coiled around her heart and stomach, making her feel all liquidy inside. She gave him her address, and told him to be there at seven that night.

"I'll be there, sweetheart. I did have one more request, however."

"Yes?"

"Would you mind sending a messenger with your finalized presentation? I'd really like to peruse it a bit more before we meet, so this time, we don't have to talk business. I assume you have illustrations and the like."

"Of course. I had planned on showing you the print ad designs at our next meeting. They just came up from Creative. I could show it to you personally," she said suggestively.

"No, you'd be too much of a distraction, and I have a lot of work to do today."

"All right," she said with a sigh of disappointment. "Shall I send it to your hotel?"

"Yes. I'll have someone waiting in the lobby for it. I can't wait to taste what you do with that red sauce…"

A smile suffused her voice. "Good bye, Jack."

"Until tonight."

And the call ended.

Teresa sat up and put her feet back on the ground, though she felt like she was floating high above it. She laid the phone in its cradle and sat back in her chair a moment, pondering the miracle that was Jack King.

She smiled and reached again for the phone.

"Sarah, I need a messenger up here as soon as possible please. It's for a delivery to Jack King at the Senator Hotel."

"Yes, ma'am," came the bright reply.

Sarah went to work, calling the in-house messengers, but could get no replies. Everyone was apparently out on a job. She rose and went down the hall to Grace for advice. Wayne Rigsby was there, sitting on the corner of the redhead's desk, obviously flirting.

She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Grace? Miss Lisbon needs a messenger on the double, but they're all out on deliveries right now. Any suggestions?"

Grace frowned. "I don't know. I'm sure one of them will be back soon. Sacramento isn't that big of a city."

"She sounded sort of urgent." Sarah leaned forward and whispered: "It's for Jack King."

Grace's eyes widened. "I guess we could call an outside service," she said hesitantly. "But Mr. Mashburn doesn't like to do that. They're very expensive."

"I could go," piped up Rigsby.

"Oh, Wayne, really?" asked Grace.

Rigsby preened at her admiring look. "Sure. No problem. I'll just let Cho know where I've gone…"

"Oh my goodness, Mr. Rigsby, thank you so much!" gushed Sarah. "I'll get the delivery…"

Sarah scurried back down to Teresa's office.

"That really is nice of you," said Grace.

"Nice enough to go out with me?" asked Rigsby hopefully, leaning closer.

Grace smiled. "Maybe. Mr. Mashburn frowns upon interoffice dating though."

"No one would have to know."

"I'll think about it," she replied, just as Sarah returned with a large, brown paper covered parcel.

"Oh, wow," said Rigsby. "Is that the Sea Mist presentation?"

"Yes," said Sarah. "Please be very careful with it, or Miss Lisbon will have my head."

"I did some of the work on this," said Rigsby. "I'll treat it like it was my own baby."

Sarah blushed. "Of course you will. Oh, there will be someone to meet you in the lobby of the Senator. Do you know that address?"

"Sure," Rigsby replied. "I'll stop by Creative to tell Cho, then I'm off."

"Well, thanks again," said Sarah. "You're a lifesaver."

Rigsby winked at the petite secretary, and gave Grace a special smile.

"I'll take care of this lickity-split."

"Our hero," teased Grace, and this time, Rigsby was the one who blushed.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the lobby of the stylish Senator Hotel, Rigsby looked around expectantly for his contact, holding the Sea Mist presentation gently in both hands. He was very surprised when Patrick Jane entered the lobby from the street, but not, it seemed, as surprised as Jane was to see him there.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Jane," he said pleasantly. The ad man looked at Rigsby's parcel and then up at the tall man's smiling face.

"Oh, hello Rigsby," he said casually. "Is that the Sea Mist account?"

"Yes, sir. Special delivery from Miss Lisbon."

"You moonlighting as a messenger boy these days?"

Rigsby grinned. "No, just doing Sarah and Grace a favor."

Jane returned his grin knowingly. "Nothing like two beautiful women owing you a favor, eh?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, I was just on my way up to meet with Jack King and Mr. Mashburn, myself. Why don't I take it up with me?"

Rigsby hesitated. He knew of course of the discord between him and Teresa Lisbon. It was the topic of office gossip these days. But Jane was technically his superior.

"I don't know…I was supposed to give it to a messenger of Mr. King's."

Jane gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure Mr. King wouldn't mind. I've been working with him and Miss Lisbon lately. I'm sure Mashburn will appreciate your saving some money on messenger services."

"Well…"

"I insist," said Jane coldly, pulling rank.

Rigsby reluctantly held out the presentation, and Jane gladly took possession.

"Thanks, Wayne. I'll see you back at the office. Now, go back and claim your reward from the fair Grace."

"Yes sir," he said, but there was something fishy about this whole thing, Rigsby would bet the last jelly doughnut on it.

He watched as Jane headed toward the elevators, before he shrugged and pushed his apprehensions out of his mind. What did he care about the foibles of upper management? All he truly cared about right now was securing a date with a certain buxom redhead that had his heart (among other things) tied up in knots.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Walter Mashburn stopped before Sarah's desk and gave the young woman a smile.

"Hello there. Would you mind letting Miss Lisbon know I'm here. I'm—"

"Mr. Mashburn," she finished for him. "Of course, sir. I'll buzz her right away."

Inside Lisbon's office, Mashburn noted with a frown how his flowers were at the far end of the room and not prominently displayed on her desk, as he had hoped. The lady truly must not be interested in him. Well, at least at the moment, he thought, pasting on his most charming smile. Unless there was a ring on her finger, the lovely Teresa was fair game.

She rose from her desk in welcome.

"Teresa," he said in appreciation of her form fitting little red suit. "Always lovely to see you. I got your memo earlier that the Sea Mist presentation was complete. I'd love to see the finished product."

She politely avoided comment on his bright red complexion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mashburn, but I just sent it by messenger to Jack King. He called and requested it not a half-hour ago."

"What?" He frowned. "I just came from having lunch with him at his hotel. He didn't mention he wanted it so soon."

"Well, who knows? He's spending a lot of money—maybe he just wants to be sure he's getting his money's worth. He was very happy with my description of the television campaign."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes."

Mashburn was confused. Last he'd heard, King was still waiting for Teresa's big presentation. Why would he request the full campaign mockups if he hadn't even met with her to hear her big pitch yet? On their ill-fated surfing trip, he hadn't even mentioned Teresa, come to think of it. He'd sure acted cozy with Jane, however. A suspicion began to burn in his mind that stung almost as badly as his sunburn.

"How are things going between you and Jane, since you mended fences?"

"Mended fences?" she said in surprise. "With that jack-?" She paused, trying to get hold of her temper where that infuriating man was concerned.  
"Pardon me, Mr. Mashburn, but I haven't spoken to Mr. Jane in a couple of days, and thank goodness for that. He's nothing but an arrogant, conceited, interfering—"

Masburn held up a hand. "That's all right, Teresa, say no more. I've met the man."

"Not that I wouldn't try to work with him," she rushed to assure her boss, "if he'd actually come off his high horse long enough to walk down the hall to meet _me._"

Mashburn's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he grimaced at the pain the movement caused his tight skin.

"Hm," he said noncommittally, trying to piece things together. Jane was up to something, and whatever it was, it couldn't be good, especially when it involved lying about this beautiful, talented woman before him. He was suddenly suffused with fury.

"Excuse me, Teresa," he said, through a tight-lipped smile. I just remembered, I need to take care of something. Congratulations on all your hard work. It sounds like you've got King's account in the bag."

"I can all but confirm it. All we need now is his signature to make it official."

"I'll have legal send over the contracts. I knew I made the right decision in hiring you."

"Thank you…_Walter_," she said almost shyly.

He smiled at the way his first name tripped off her lovely tongue, his depressed hopes since the flower failure renewing in his soul. He stepped closer to her and took her small hand in his.

"No, my dear. Thank _you_. I'll see you after I arrange the contract signing."

He brought her hand up to his lips, kissing her knuckles tenderly before smiling and saying goodbye. Then he was walking down the hall, his anger building with every step. He went directly to Jane's door and pounded on it before Grace could rise to greet him.

"Jane, open this goddamn door and explain yourself, or so help me, I'll beat your pretty face to a bloody pulp."

Rigsby, who had just returned, stopped short, his jaw dropping at the angry tone of the usual highly professional company president.

"I'm sorry Mr. Mashburn," Grace, said, speaking softly to calm him in turn, "but Mr. Jane is out."

"Where the hell is he?" he roared.

Rigsby didn't think it was possible for a man's face to be such a dark shade of red.

"Uh, Mr. Mashburn," began Rigsby, "I just saw Mr. Jane at the Senator Hotel. He's in a meeting with Jack King."

"What?"

"I delivered Miss Lisbon's Sea Mist print campaign to Mr. King, and Mr. Jane took it up to—"

But Rigsby didn't get the chance to finish his statement, for Mashburn practically ran down the hall to the elevator, muttering obscenities all the way.

Grace was still standing near Jane's door, her hand covering her mouth in horror.

"I'm going to be fired," she said, her voice muffled.

"Nonsense," said Rigsby. "When I saw Jane, I knew there was something strange about his behavior. Mashburn's got his number now, whatever it is."

Her hand dropped to her side and she turned angrily to Rigsby.

"I thought you liked Mr. Jane."

"I do, but if he's doing something to sabotage that nice Miss Lisbon—"

"I'm not sure what this is all about," Grace interrupted, "but Mr. Mashburn is fit to be tied about something my direct supervisor has done. That's not good for me, Wayne, and I don't think you helped matters any. If I get fired, it's all your fault!"

With that, she buzzed open Jane's door and disappeared inside, leaving Rigsby in her very angry wake. He stood there in shock a moment, then reached over and pressed the intercom button.

"Does this mean you won't go out with me now?"

But there was no answer.

"Dammit," he muttered under his breath. He sighed in frustration. "Oh well, back to the drawing board…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

By the time his driver dropped him off in front of the Senator, Mashburn was fit to be tied. He was imagining the various ways he would kill Patrick Jane with his bare hands as the doorman opened the door for him to the opulent hotel lobby. His timing was perfect, for Jane and King had just emerged from the elevator, laughing and smiling, King slapping Jane's back over something clever the Jane had said. For some reason, this made Mashburn go from furious to livid in five seconds flat.

He waylaid the pair at the lounge entrance.

"Mash, you old dog, good you could join us," said King enthusiastically. "Although you look red as a nun in a whorehouse, poor sook. You're here in good time though. Paddy and I were just off to get a drink to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?"

Jane's initial grin of welcome for his friend had turned to a small frown as he noted the man's demeanor. He was barely holding his rage in check. This couldn't be good, Jane deduced astutely.

"I've just seen Paddy's brilliant presentation, and I have to say, Mash, you don't disappoint. And while I've missed working with that up-and-comer, Miss Lisbon, Paddy here has far exceeded my expectations. Where do I sign?"

Mashburn looked from Jane to King and back again, and every puzzle piece now fit into place, especially when Jane refused to meet his eyes.

"Great news," said Mashburn, recovering quickly and smiling at their new client. He shook King's hand. "Would you mind going ahead and getting us a seat in the lounge, Jack? I really need to speak with _Paddy_ alone a minute."

"No problem. I'll get 'em warmed up for you." He slapped Mashburn on the back, causing him to gasp and seize up with pain. Mashburn shot Jane a murderous look. He'd decided Jane was to blame for his sunburn too, apparently, thought Jane.

"Oh, sorry, old man. You should really track down some emu oil for that. I'll order you some oysters on the half too. Fix you right up. Looking forward to working with you, mate."

And the surfboard magnate sauntered toward the lounge, happily whistling _Waltzing Matilda_. Mashburn grabbed Jane's arm before he could escape, dragging him to the front door and outside to stand on the sidewalk.

"I ought to tear you limb from limb for what you've done to Teresa," he ground out.

"What are you talking about?" Jane asked innocently.

"Don't give me that innocent look. You know damn well what I mean. You've been stealing her ideas and passing them off as your own."

"I didn't steal anything, Walter. Teresa gave them to me on her own, and gladly."

"I just spoke to the lady, and she claims she hasn't even seen you in person yet!" He grabbed Jane by the lapels with both hands and shook him a little, considered thrashing him right then and there.

"You're lying, you bastard, I know you are," he said through his teeth, his face right up in Jane's.

"I swear, Walter, we've spoken on the phone a number of times—"

Mashburn's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying she's lying? Why would she do that?"

Jane was amazingly unruffled under pressure. "Look, Walter, the fact is, she was floundering. She asked me for some advice and help, and we worked the whole thing out. If she's not confessing now, it's because she's embarrassed that she couldn' t handle the pressure."

Mashburn slowly released him and Jane stepped back, brushing at his expensive suit and shirt in annoyance.

"Well, this is what's going to happen, Patrick. I'm going back in there and have a drink with King, and you're going to go back to your office and tell Grace you'll be out of the office until further notice. I want you as far away from the Sea Mist account as you possibly can be until King leaves town. Then, I'll consider whether I'm going to can your ass."

"But what will King think?" Jane whined. "I just landed this account. I'm the point man, as far as he's concerned. If he finds out he's been played, he may chuck it all and go with another firm."

"Maybe, but I doubt it, once he meets the _real _brains behind his new campaign."

Jane's eyes widened. "You're bringing in Teresa?"

"Yes. It's only fair, don't you think? And I'll get to the bottom of this, Patrick, don't think I won't. If what you say is true, getting the praise directly from King without your running interference will go a long way toward boosting her self-confidence. And if you're lying, if you tried to take advantage of this exceptional woman, I'll see to it that the closest to advertising you ever get is stacking canned corn in the local Safeway."

Jane felt a huge moment of panic, though strangely, it wasn't at the prospect of being fired. Of course, it would have to end like this, Teresa finding out what he'd done, but somehow, he'd managed to push that eventuality out of his mind. He'd been so focused on trying to get everything he wanted, that he hadn't allowed himself to consider what it would truly mean when Teresa discovered who he really was. And he wasn't ready for that to happen yet.

Jane schooled his expression and looked up at Mashburn with a semblance of contrition.

"All right, Walter. I'll do what you ask. But I think this is a mistake."

"Well, you might not be around to see it, buddy boy. Now, get the hell out of town. Leave word with Grace where you are, and I'll call you when I can stand the sight or sound of you again."

Mashburn left him there on the sidewalk and went back into the hotel to meet with the real Jack King. Jane presented his valet ticket and his 1963 Citroen was delivered to him in front of the hotel. As he drove back toward the office, his mind raced, searching for a way out, or at least a way to postpone the inevitable just a little bit longer.

At a stoplight just down from Mashburn Advertising, a plan occurred to him, and a devilish smile spread across his face. No one could beat him at this game, especially not Walter Mashburn. Hell, Jane thought, I i_nvented_ the game.

But at the back of his mind was a niggling doubt about whether or not what he was feeling for Teresa was really a game. And whether winning was really worth the price.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Miss Lisbon, Mr. King is on the phone," said Sarah.

Teresa smiled and picked up the phone.

"Jack," she said. "I was just about to leave a bit early to run by the supermarket-"

"I'm afraid there's been a change of plans."

Lisbon's face fell, but she tried not to let her feelings leak into her voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Something I can help you with?"

"Why, yes, yes there is. You can come away with me for the weekend."

"But—" Teresa covered the mouthpiece, then took a deep breath before removing her hand. "I'm sorry, Jack. But I- I'm not that kind of girl."

She hoped he wouldn't point out that just a couple of nights ago, she'd almost consented to _being_ that kind of girl. In the light of day, she'd realized that this was all happening too fast. She was falling in love with a man she barely knew, and she was allowing her well-honed defenses to fall, along with her heart.

Jack chuckled. "We'll have separate rooms, of course, if that's what you want."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"Well, where would we be going?" she asked instead, though the excitement of his request was bubbling inside her like fine champagne.

"Let me show you the ocean. Have you been yet, since you've moved to California?"

"No," she said.

"Well, I've rented a beach house in Malibu. You talked about learning to surf…" he coaxed, and she found herself imagining riding the waves with him, watching the sunset over the ocean, then the sunrise the next morning.

Her heart pounded and she could almost feel his strong arms wrapped around her, as they sat in the warm sand.

"All right," she said bravely. "I'll come with you."

"Good girl," said Jack. "How soon can you be ready? Some unexpected business came up and I have to get down there as soon as possible. If we leave within the hour, we can be there before midnight."

"An hour?" she gasped, her hand going self-consciously to her hair.

"I'll pick you up outside your apartment building," he told her.

"I'll be ready," she said, her voice now calm and steady.

She'd made up her mind that whatever might happen, well, she would have no regrets.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The six-hour drive to Malibu was one of the most enjoyable trips Teresa had ever had. She adored his new car, spent most of the drive curled into his right side as he expertly drove the highway with one hand on the wheel, the other across her shoulder or around her waist. They sang along with the radio (he didn't seem to mind that she couldn't carry a tune) or talked about unimportant things that oddly became the most important in the world to her.

They stopped at a little diner that served breakfast all day, and dined on bacon and eggs. Before they got back into the car, he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her passionately and thoroughly enough that both of them were panting and shaking slightly by the time they were on the road again.

"Thank you for coming with me," he'd whispered into her hair.

She'd shivered and held him tighter, too shaken for words.

Now, at the stroke of midnight, they pulled off the highway and onto a road that led to the beach. She'd been dozing against his arm and she felt him nudge her slightly.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty," he said, kissing her temple. "We're here."

Teresa had expected a romantic little cottage in the sand, but she was amazed to find Jack's idea of a beach house was actually a recently constructed chalet of towering glass and redwood, moonlight glinting off the windows, two-stories high.

"Oh, Jack," she breathed. "It's beautiful!"

She saw a flash of white teeth in the dimness, then he laughed gleefully and helped her out of the car.

He slipped his key into the lock and flipped on a switch, illuminating the entire downstairs with diffused light. It was just as beautiful inside, with its open floor plan and freestanding redwood and chrome staircase. He went to the living room and turned on the gas fireplace, the fire whooshing to life and crackling merrily. A modern couch formed a half-moon before it, with a white fur rug spread on the hardwood floor.

Teresa spun around happily, trying to take everything in at once.

Jack was smiling at her obvious pleasure. "Come see the best part," he said mischievously, taking her hand and leading her to the back of the house.

He slid open glass doors and the ocean immediately assaulted their senses. They stood on a wooden deck and looked down at the beach, the smell of the salt spray fresh and clean in their nostrils, the pounding of the waves pulling away from the shore, echoing the excitement in their hearts. The full moon lit up the night nearly as brightly as day, and as she put her hands on the railing, Jack pulled her back close to his chest, nuzzling her neck as she stood, enthralled by his nearness as much as with the scene before them.

"You up for a moonlight swim?" he asked.

It was late, and she knew they were both exhausted, but she found herself saying yes anyway.

He showed her to her room and then brought in their luggage. She smiled her thanks and kissed his cheek before shutting the door slowly between them.

When Teresa re-emerged, wearing her modest polka-dotted two-piece, the back door was still open, and Jack was nowhere to be found. She smiled to herself when she realized he had likely gone to the beach without her, like an excited child would do. She grabbed a couple of towels from the bathroom and walked barefooted down the steps to the sand. They had the beach all to themselves, apparently. It wasn't long before she saw Jack, standing just at the edge of the waterline, his hands on trim hips that were encased in dark swimming trunks, looking out over the dancing waves. His skin appeared smooth and tan over a lean, well-formed, swimmer's body, and his golden hair appeared almost white in the light of the moon. He didn't hear her over the surf until she was standing right beside him.

He grinned and took her hand, looking up and down her sweetly curved body in masculine appreciation.

"Shall we?" he asked, and when she nodded, he pulled her into a run, both of them laughing like children when their feet first touched the lukewarm water.

A half-hour later, their cheeks hurting from laughter, wet hair streaming, they grabbed their towels and dried off on the shore.

"That was invigorating," she said, breathing heavily with healthy exertion.

"If you think that was fun, wait'll I get you up on a board," he said. He had paused in his drying to watch her rub her hair a bit, the natural waves falling to her shoulders.

"Oh, I can't wait!" she exclaimed.

Neither could he.

Next thing she knew, she was in his arms, his mouth insistent upon hers. She met his passion gladly, her hands roaming the finely honed muscles of his back and shoulders as he held her closer, their water-chilled bodies heating rapidly. They fell slowly to their knees in the powdery sand, never breaking their kiss while their hands explored and caressed newly exposed skin.

He let her go a moment to spread out a towel, and she knelt there, panting softly, her heart thundering in her ears. He took up their kiss again, this time lowering her gently to the towel, his body covering hers. Instinctively, she bent one knee, and he settled into the cradle of her hips, a moan tearing from his throat as he kissed her salt-tinged neck with his hot mouth.

His hands cupped her breasts encased within the damp halter of her suit, and he found the tie at the back of her neck with shaking fingers. He hesitated, wondering suddenly how far she was willing to go, given her earlier trepidation about sharing a room.

"Yes," she replied, to his unspoken question.

He pulled down her halter and feasted upon her small breasts, the tips rosy and tight. He took one experimentally into his mouth and she gasped, her hips rising to meet his, reveling in the hardness she felt pressing against her. His fingers teased her other breast at the same time he tortured her with his mouth.

"Oh, God…Jack…"

Her hands slid into the slick dampness of his hair, holding him more tightly against her aching breasts.

"Let's go inside," he whispered, and she could barely hear him over the waves and her rapid pulse.

"All right," she said. He didn't bother re-tying her halter, but lifted her up in his arms, wrapping the towel around her as he carried her quickly back to the house.

He set her down near the outdoor shower on the deck, and he turned it on, his mouth fusing to hers once more as the clean water washed away the sand and surf from their bodies. His hands were on her breasts again, but then they glided lower, to her flat stomach, touching the top edge of her bathing suit bottoms.

He slipped his hands inside the wet fabric, cupping her cool, bare buttocks, thrilling when she did the same to him. Teresa had the vague realization that things were going much more quickly than she had planned, but she wasn't feeling ashamed. These erotic feelings were natural, she knew, but she was allowing him more liberties than she had ever allowed a man before. And despite her fears, she wanted him more than she had imagined possible.

The shower abruptly stopped, and he was leading her now inside, grabbing a couple more towels from a cabinet just outside the door on their way past. Teresa reached around to untie her halter the rest of the way, tossing it out the open door right before Jack closed and locked it. She wrapped the towel modestly around herself, taking in the beauty of the man before her as he dried off.

She reached out a tentative hand to touch his hair again, then his chest, right above where he was rubbing the red towel. His eyes met hers, dark and heated with barely contained desire. "Will you share my room?" he asked her softly.

Her cheeks grew even more flushed. "I should tell you, Jack, I-"she swallowed hard—"I've never done this before."

He nodded solemnly. "I know," he told her with a gentle smile. "That's why I'm asking you politely instead of carrying you to the bed and ravaging you, which, I assure you, would be anything but polite."

"I want to Jack, it's just, I always intended to wait until I found the right man, a man worthy of giving the greatest gift a woman has to give. At least, that's what my mother always told me I should do."

Jane was instantly suffused with guilt, but it warred heavily with his other feelings, only some of which stemmed from lust. The rest, he was going to push resolutely away until he got what his body wanted from her, because that was the way he'd always done things before.

"We'll only go as far as you want to, Teresa," he told her. He knew that once he had her completely naked in his bed, he could convince her to go all the way with him to paradise.

"Okay, Jack," she told him. "I trust you."

He tried not to cringe, not to feel the hypocrisy of all the ways he had lied to her, and would no doubt continue to do so. He couldn't fathom how he would tell her the truth. Not now.

In the end, she spent the night in his bed, both of them naked, her virginity still intact. Instead, he'd pleasured her with his mouth and fingers until she fell gloriously apart beneath his touch, then taught her (at her insistence) how to give him the same pleasure. Sated, at least for now, he'd gathered her against his body and slept better than he had in years.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sound of a distant telephone awakened Teresa, and she looked at Jack, still sleeping like a baby beside her. She slipped out of bed, grabbing her robe, hurrying to answer the phone in the kitchen before it awakened him.

"Hello," she said quietly, looking nervously back toward the bedroom door.

An Australian accent, even thicker than Jack's, spoke into her ear.

"G'day there. Walter Mashburn told me I might find Patrick Jane at this number. He took me up on my offer to stay at my beach house, I see. Glad to hear he brought the missus too. I had some questions about my Sea Mist campaign."

Teresa froze, her mind racing.

_No, _she thought, _there has to be some mistake._

Her eyes went unbidden to the bedroom door.

"May I—may I ask who's calling?"

"Tell that lay-about to come to the phone; this is Jack King calling."

**A/N: How, you may wonder, is this all going to work out to a happy ending? You'll just have to keep reading to find out. Nerwen is up next! I hope you gift us with one of your wonderful reviews! **


	6. Sleeping With Pigs

A/N: Sorry for the wait. I've had a pretty rough couple of weeks but I finally managed to find the time to knock this chapter out. I had fun with it, especially the ending. Donna left me with a great place to start, I hope I returned the favor.

**Chapter 6: Sleeping With Pigs**

It took several moments for the name to register in Teresa's mind. So much so that other Jack King started saying, "Ma'am. Is something wrong?"

_Jack King. If this is Jack King than who…? He said he called Patrick Jane's number but that's not possible…_

Teresa shook her head. "I'm sorry Mr. King, I was lost in thought. Let me see if I can find him."

She was practically shaking as she put the phone down quietly, and slowly moved toward the bedroom. She wanted this all to be some mistake but she had to know. Jack…or _whoever_ he was, was still asleep and she took the opportunity to find his discarded trousers. She blushed for a moment as sensual memories floated through her mind, but that didn't deter her from her task. She easily found his billfold in his back pocket and flipped it open to the identification.

_Patrick Jane._

Her mouth actually fell open while her face burned with shock, shame, and finally, rage. All this time that she'd been presenting material and pitching storyboard ideas, she'd been talking to Patrick Jane. Every dinner, kiss and touch had been with Patrick Jane. Patrick Jane, who had never said a word that wasn't an insult. Patrick Jane, who had played her for a fool and used her to get ahead. Not just used her, but almost bedded her.

And she'd very nearly let him.

Teresa thought about just running over and giving the sleeping bastard a piece of her mind. But the _real_ Jack King was still waiting on the phone in the kitchen. Confronting the jackass would just have to wait a few moments.

The phone was still resting on the counter and while she was still shaking, this time it was from barely controlled rage. "Mr. King. I'm afraid that J- he is not here right now but I'll gladly let him know you called." She didn't add that she would tell him that after she beat him to death.

For a few minutes she did what she could to remain calm and formulate a plan. Several ghastly ideas came to mind, each one sure to cause Patrick Jane inordinate amounts of pain. But her rational side took over and decided that escape was the best option, especially if she wanted to salvage her career- making plans

So, she got dressed as quietly as possible, packed her bags, and loaded them in Jane's car. She thought about just leaving him in the house alone but she wanted at least a little bit of revenge before she left him high and dry, so to speak.

Teresa opened the door to the bedroom and slammed it back shut. Patrick woke up with a start, still wearing only his undergarments. It took him a moment to get his bearings, noting she was dressed and not looking too happy. "Teresa, is something wrong?" He was still using his _phony_ accent!

"Why no," she said icily, "I just thought you should know that Mr. Jack King called and has a few questions about the Sea Mist campaign, _Mr. Jane._" His name was said on a low growl.

The expressions on his face changed from sleepy alarm to real fear. He looked like deer standing eye to eye with a hunter's rifle. "Teresa, let me explain…"

"Explain what?" She asked him, "How you played me for a fool? How you lied to me to peddle off _my_ ideas as yours. How you planned to seduce me and then ruin my career?"

"Okay, yes that is true, but _not_ true."

"Did you try to steal my campaign out from under me or not?"

"Yes, but not for the reason you think."

"What other reason could their possibly be other than you are a lying pig?"

"Yes, I did steal your campaign at the start because…"

"Because you couldn't stand a woman in my position. What about the rest? Pretending to be Jack King? Bringing me here and..."

"I never planned on that, I swear. I just got caught up in the moment and then never wanted to go back."

"You brought me here to seduce me."

"Yes, but I…"

That confession was enough to spurn her into action. An ordinary lady might have given him a harsh open palm slap across the cheek. But Teresa Lisbon had lived with and raised three brothers. Instead, she delivered a solid punch to the nose-enough to send him reeling across the bed. She was tempted to do even more damage, but instead made for a quick exit while leaving him tending to his bleeding nose.

She hurried out of the house that now only was the scene of her foolishness and shame. Jack's…_Jane's_ car was still parked outside and she had the keys in her hand. The motor purred like a kitten and she pressed her foot on the gas to get away as fast as she could, knowing full well she was leaving him stranded. But she didn't care.

It took a few miles for her to realize that she was crying, but it couldn't be helped. She didn't know how to stop the tears.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took Jane a while to recover fully, not only from Teresa's sock in the nose, but also the shock of his plan completely falling apart his way. He'd heard his car driving away, which left him essentially stranded at the beach house. Once the blinding pain and the bleeding stopped, Jane set about getting dressed and finding a way back to Sacramento. Easier said then done without a car.

That was how he wound up walking along the road, trying to hitch a ride, something he hadn't had to do since he was a teenager. Two cars passed him right on by before a dusty, ramshackle truck slowed to a stop. There was a pen in the back that held several fat pigs.

There were two men in the cab of the truck and one drooling dog. "Can we 'elp ya?" the driver asked.

"Trying to make my way back to Sacramento. You wouldn't happen to be heading that way or to a place where I can get a bus ticket?"

"We can take you as far as Franklin; reckon you can find yer way from there."

"Much obliged," Jane said, just glad to be getting somewhere.

"You'll 'ave to ride in back."

Jane looked back at where the pigs were. "Of course I do." He thought about just letting them drive on, but there was no guarantee he'd get another ride and he was desperate to get back. So, he swallowed his pride and climbed into the pen.

Some of the pigs squealed in protest to the intruder and shuffled away from Jane. They squealed again when the truck lurched and began to lumber along again. Jane just sat up against one corner of the pen and tried to avoid the pig droppings as best he could.

The irony of this moment wasn't lost on him. This morning he'd lost Teresa and probably his job and now he was stuck in a pen full of pigs.

He'd lost everything but the oink.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It took two showers to wash the smell of pig off his skin, but Jane managed to look at least somewhat refreshed as he made his way to the office. The only thing he cared about was getting to Teresa; perhaps there was a chance where he could explain himself. Maybe she would be able to understand that some things hadn't been a total lie.

He didn't stop to talk to anyone, to flirt with any of the secretaries or exchange a few words with the other executives. Everyone stared after him as he rushed through the building, wondering what had him acting so strangely. He didn't stop until he made it to Teresa's office. Sarah stared at him, bewildered, but could do little more than utter a word of protest as he barged right in.

He wasn't all that surprised to see Mashburn and Teresa huddled together. Of course she would inform Walter of his recent escapades. Lisbon glared at him immediately, even though a lovely blush graced her cheeks. Mashburn had a similar dark look on his face but there was no hiding the smugness present there as well; he would be silently celebrating this triumph at least.

"Teresa…" Jane began, but he was quickly interrupted.

"Don't you start anymore of your nonsense, Patrick," Mashburn said, "Teresa has told me everything. The only thing you should be doing is looking for another job."

Jane was expecting that situation; he'd already come up with a temporary solution that should at the very least, stall Mashburn. "That wouldn't be in your best interests, at least not for now."

"Excuse me?"

"Jack King has been working with me, not her," Jane pointed out.

"That's no fault of mine," Lisbon reminded him icily.

"Regardless, the formal presentation is in two days and Jack and his partners wouldn't want to sign up with an agency that is mired in scandal and confusion."

"That _you_ caused!"

Jane didn't even flinch. "If he gets a whiff of what is going on he'll turn to your competitors. It would be better if I stayed on at least until this pitch is finished."

Mashburn didn't say anything, but Jane knew he'd played his cards well. So did Teresa. She gaped at her boss with a mixture of shock and outrage. "Walter, you cannot seriously be considering this?"

"I have to do what is best for my company, Teresa." Walter said tightly. He obviously didn't like this either.

"So he lies, cheats and gets away with it?"

"Once this pitch is over, he's out of here," Walter assured her, "I can promise you that."

But she wasn't satisfied. "This is _my_ pitch, _my_ campaign, he simply masqueraded it as his own."

"Teresa…"

"I won't let him use my ideas!"

"I never said you couldn't present them," Jane pointed out. They both turned to look at him, a little confused. "Teresa can pitch the campaign at the meeting, she can get full credit, just make sure I'm there so Jack at least believes I was a part of it."

"Part of it?" Lisbon asked, "You want credit for something you didn't do?"

"This doesn't have anything to do with who did the pitch," Jane replied, "it's merely about making sure that the façade Jack King believes in remains intact. Otherwise, we'll lose the account."

Walter glared at him. "I don't like keeping you around when you're the one who put this account in jeopardy."

"Well, when this is over, you'll have the satisfaction of firing me."

Teresa wasn't so reassured. "I don't believe a word you say. You love this job too much to let it go without a fight."

But Jane just met her eyes and shrugged. "Some things are more important than a job."

They couldn't break eye contact as Teresa felt the meaning behind those words. She struggled to hide the fact that she couldn't just forget the feelings that had burgeoned between them over this time. Neither could he. This was the worst part-he still wanted her even though she only looked at him with poison now.

Walter didn't like the look they exchanged and quickly sought to end it. "Well that's it; once this pitch is over, Patrick is history."

Lisbon nodded. "I have work to do, preparations for when I meet the _real_ Jack King."

"Of course," Walter said, "but I'll still see you tonight, yes?"

Jane stiffened immediately. Walter had asked her out to dinner? It shouldn't have been surprising; Walter would seize the chance to finally win her affections even if her reasons for saying yes were for revenge. But it hurt. It killed him, actually.

"Of course," Teresa said tersely, flashing Jane a look. She wanted to prove she was already over him.

Walter grinned and turned, clapped a hand on Jane's shoulder and half shoved him out of the office. They didn't say anything until they made it to Jane's office…soon to be _former_ office.

"You're taking her to dinner?" Jane demanded as soon as the door was closed.

"Yes, I thought it was time she was treated right by a true gentleman."

"Stuff it. You just want to take advantage of her desire to prove she doesn't care about me."

"Don't you mean Jack King?"

Jane didn't rise to that bait. "It was me. I may have used his name but that was all I did."

"Heh, sure," Walter said dismissively, "Well, you and your kangaroo are finished. She's not yours to play with anymore."

"This isn't a game," Jane hissed. "Don't do this. Don't you dare hurt her."

"Easy there, Patrick," He replied. "You almost sound like you're in love. But we both know that's impossible."

Walter was a bit too busy crowing over his victory to notice how stunned Jane had gotten at the use of the word _love_. Instead, the other man chuckled like the cat who'd gotten the canary. "Start packing your desk, Patrick. I've got to prepare for tonight."

Jane didn't move an inch, barely even noticed as his friend left the room. His mind kept repeating the same word over and over again: _love_.

Could he actually have fallen in love with Teresa Lisbon? Is that why she was the only thing he missed losing in this mess? Why he had kept up the charade? It had long since stopped being about getting the upper hand, but instead became about the chance to see her smile, to kiss her porcelain skin. Was this what love felt like?

The answer came to him easily.

_Yes._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa prepared for her dinner with Walter with forced enthusiasm. Her anger at Patrick Jane still burned fiercely since he had made a complete fool out of her. She'd been surprised by Walter's offer for dinner, and while he'd tried to make it out as a simple action to help smooth her ruffled feathers and talk business, she also had a feeling the man was hoping business would quickly give way to pleasure. She was angry enough with Jane and determined to prove he wasn't under her skin to say yes.

But now, in her apartment, she was starting to lose her nerve. It didn't feel right to use Walter as a means of proving herself; she had never been one to lead a man on. More than that, she really didn't feel up to getting dressed and putting on a smile when she felt so miserable inside. It was all becoming too much for her; she'd actually thought that Jack King was the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, and she'd actually believed she was in love with him.

Now she was exposed as nothing more than a stupid fool, no better than a lovesick schoolgirl tricked into bed by the quarterback. That idea sent her cheeks flaming again. She hadn't given herself completely to Patrick Jane but she had come so close. It was so hard to repress how sensual that night had been. She still remembered his kiss, his hands roaming her body and bringing her to the most exquisite ecstasy. The worst part was that even now a part of her longed to go back to those glorious days when she lived in ignorance.

But she was a grown woman who had to move on and stop dwelling on her own foolishness, however hard that might be. Somehow, she managed to get herself dressed and her makeup hid the fact that she'd spent at least part of the evening crying. Now she just had to get through the dinner.

Walter picked her up on time in his fancy car, but that wasn't enough to perk her spirits. He also had the unfortunate choice to take her to _Riva Del Fiume,_ which was where she'd first met Patrick Jane under the guise of Jack King. The evening was certainly ruined after that.

She was placed in the same seat at the same table, the only difference being the man sitting across from her. Try as she might, she couldn't stop wishing Walter was someone else. As the minutes ticked by, she sank into a deeper gloom, barely touching the delectable pasta and perfectly aged wine. She couldn't even hear Walter's voice; she just murmured out monosyllabic replies whenever it seemed appropriate.

But Walter caught on to her obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"Teresa? Teresa? Are you all right?"

"Pardon?" she asked, having been forced out of her melancholic thoughts.

"You've barely said a word all night," Walter pointed out.

He was right, of course, and she knew it. She'd been very poor company all evening and it was only getting worse. The more she thought about everything that had happened and remembered all of the dreams she'd actually started to have…it made her feel like a used dishrag, easily discarded and wrung out.

"I'm so sorry, Walter," Teresa told him, her fork clattered to her mostly full plate as she buried her face in her hands. "I just feel like such a fool."

"I understand," Walter told her, reaching over to soothe her arm even though she didn't particularly want his touch. "I can't believe he would do something like that, and I considered him a close friend." He leaned forward in his seat and she looked up to meet his eyes. "I promise you, he won't hurt you like that again."

She shook her head. "How could someone do something like that? I actually thought I was falling in love with him."

Walter tensed at that, but Teresa barely noticed; she was trying very hard to keep from crying and failing miserably. Her shoulders shook as she hid her face once more, utterly humiliated to be crying like this in public.

"I'm sorry," she told him, but there was no helping her feelings.

It was obvious that Walter had no idea what to do with a crying woman. "Uh…I'll…I'll get you some water."

She didn't stop him or remind him that there was a full glass of water in front of her. She let him leave because she didn't want him there at the moment either. Now that he was gone she let herself loose for a moment, just get the worst of her emotions out, before taking a few deep breaths to calm herself and maybe start to pull herself back together.

"Excuse me." The kind voice of a stranger forced her attention.

Lisbon looked up to see a very tall and stocky, middle-aged man looking at her with concerned eyes. "Are you all right?"

She thought about lying, but really, what was the point. "No, not really," she admitted, "I'm afraid I've been played the fool."

The man's eyes hardened. "A pretty gal like you shouldn't be used like this. Some men don't know how to treat a lady."

She shook her head, smiling meagerly, "No they don't."

He gave her a soft look. "Don't worry, ma'am. I know how to handle guys like him."

Teresa wasn't entirely sure what he was talking about, since she doubted this man knew Patrick Jane. But it all became very clear once Walter came up with a tall glass of water.

"Here you are, Teresa. Maybe this will—."

He couldn't get another word out before the stranger punched him full across his face. Neither one of them had known that this was Jesse Owens, former boxing and heavy weight champion. But Walter did learn what it was like to feel the wrath of a retired boxer.

As he lay on the floor, the room spinning around him, Walter could hear Teresa's concern, and the rest of the room tittering about what had just happened. But all Walter felt was the mind-blowing pain of being knocked flat on his back and the realization that maybe courting this particular girl simply was not worth it.

**A/N: Well what did you think? Poor Walter had to learn the hard way that he and Teresa aren't going to happen, hehehe. I leave the rest of Lisbon's revenge in Donna's more than capable hands.**


	7. Best Laid Plans

A/N: Here's a Sunday chapter that will hopefully help get your through until tonight's episode. There's a touch of "M" in this chapter, so be warned. Thanks for your continuing support of this fic. Nerwen and I greatly appreciate it!

**Chapter 7: Best Laid Plans**

Two days passed, with Jane continually trying to see or talk to Teresa, but she refused all his calls, refused to see him. Her secretary, Sarah, once impressed by his charm, was now coldly immune, guarding her boss's office like it contained the Holy Grail. He supposed he couldn't blame her; certainly he couldn't blame Teresa. But now, Jane was surprised to find the Sea Mist account no longer mattered. Nothing mattered to him anymore but that he'd lost Teresa.

Walter was avoiding him too, and except for the brief glimpse of the company namesake, sporting one hell of a shiner and yelling a curse at him across the parking lot before getting into a black limousine, Jane had been denied access to his boss's office, as well. Walter's black eye seemed promising, however. Maybe Teresa had seen through Walter too, figured out that he had only lured her to his company to get into her pants. There was some comfort in that thought. Jane certainly knew she packed quite a punch for such a small person. He smiled for the first time since Teresa had found out the truth, touching his sore nose gingerly.

To make matters worse, Jane had been cut completely out of the Sea Mist account, having received a terse memo from Walter that he was expected to be present during the formal presentation with Jack King in the MAA conference room, but then his position should be considered terminated. Walter had even made his attendance linked to any severance pay, so Jane would have no choice but to show up, tail between his legs at the presentation or risk losing thousands of dollars he might need until he found another job.

All of this was driving him a little crazy, he knew. He hadn't shaved in two days, and hadn't even bothered wearing a tie into work. He'd barricaded himself in his office, feeling sorry for himself and trying every half-hour to call Teresa both at her apartment and her office. He was sure Sarah had gotten tired of hearing his voice. He kept reliving every moment with Teresa torturing himself with the memory of her soft skin beneath his hands, the feel of her trembling lips as he kissed her.

Now, normally in a situation like this, he'd develop a plan to win her back, and several options had floated around in his head, but none of them would work if he'd been denied access to her office, and even to her apartment building, whose protective doormen had obviously been given a description of him. _How could such a small woman inspire so much protectiveness?_ Jane sighed. He knew the answer to that. She was a wonderful human being, while he—he was in fact the swine she'd so often accused him of. He didn't like admitting that to himself, but it was true—especially where women were concerned.

The morning of the presentation, he could stand no more. He arrived an hour earlier than even the secretaries did, and he stood at Teresa's office door, looking around cautiously before expertly picking the lock and slipping inside. He looked at the beautiful picture boards on display of the Sea Mist presentation, longing slamming into him. If he hadn't been such an ass, things might have turned out so differently. They worked well together, and it wasn't just their brief time in the bedroom. Teresa was truly brilliant at what she did, a near-equal match to his own creativity, and had he not been so territorial, so narrow-minded in his desire to be MAA's _only_ Creative Director, they could have brought this firm to national prominence, just like Walter had dreamed.

The way he saw it, this was his last chance to get to Teresa before he would be denied access to the company itself, escorted out of the building after the meeting like a common criminal. He made himself comfortable on her white leather couch to wait, the two nights of sleeplessness finally catching up with him. So, with the lingering scent of her perfume in his nostrils (the damn place even _smelled_ like her!), Jane adjusted the throw pillow more comfortably beneath his head and drifted off to sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Teresa had kept herself busy with work the past two days, and with the constant battle of purposefully avoiding a very persistent Patrick Jane. She only allowed herself to cry when she lay down in bed, not even the sips of sherry hastening her oblivion. She loved the bastard, and he'd betrayed her in every way possible. The revenge she'd planned comforted her somewhat, but it would be cold comfort, for in the end, all she would have left would be her job. How sad that that used to be enough for her.

The morning of the final presentation to the real Jack King found her attempting the second phase of her vengeance, the first phase already in the works down in the Creative Lab, with her new allies, Rigsby and Cho. This second phase would be the most difficult, for she must look the great conman himself, Patrick Jane, in the eyes and lie. Lying had never been her strong suit—and normally that would be a good quality to cultivate. But today, she called to the devil on her shoulder to make her a better actress.

She stopped before Grace's desk, the younger woman immediately smiling in sympathy. By now everyone knew the story of how Jane had deceived Teresa, stealing her ideas and passing them off as his own. Only Grace and Sarah knew that he'd tricked her on an even more personal level, and the three women had allied themselves immediately against the resident pig in his office sty.

"He's not in yet," Grace told her.

She also knew, by way of Rigsby, that Miss Lisbon had cooked up a special parting gift for her soon-to-be-former boss, and Grace had applauded the chutzpah of the female executive. About time these male chauvinists got what was coming to them.

"What?" said Teresa, taken aback. She glanced at her watch. It was past nine. She had to meet with him before one or her whole plan would fall apart.

"Has he called?"

"No," she said. "I'll let you know when he gets in."

"Yes, thanks, Grace."

Disheartened, Teresa walked down the hall to her own secretary, Sarah smiling in warm greeting.

"This is the big day," she told her boss brightly.

"Yes, it is," said Lisbon morosely. "Please patch in any calls from Grace to me right away."

"Yes, Miss Lisbon," Sarah replied, noting with concern the dark shadows that not even makeup could hide. _Poor dear_.

Teresa unlocked her door and went inside, sighing as her first view was the one of a beautiful Sacramento morning outside her bay window. She took off her beige suit jacket and hat and hung them on the coat rack, then, clad in her matching skirt and chocolate silk blouse, she walked toward her desk. She stopped short, nearly gasping aloud when she saw that a very unexpected Goldilocks was sleeping on her couch.

She paused to look at him a moment—she couldn't help it—he was so angelic in sleep, fully belying his decidedly devilish side when awake. Love washed over her so violently that it almost brought her to her knees. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she angrily dashed them away and marched loudly over to her couch. She kicked the cushion right beneath his head, enormously satisfied when he jerked awake, momentarily disoriented.

"Hey! Wake up!"

He blinked a moment up at her, and in that brief, off-guard moment, she saw on his face a flash of something that had her heart leaping, but she resolutely tamped down the feeling. No way he was going to charm his way out of this one, beguiling looks or no.

"Hi," he said warily.

"How'd you get in here?"

"I picked the lock."

Her eyes widened. "That's probably the first truth you've told me since we met. Now get the hell out."

She pointed a dainty alabaster finger toward the door, and Jane had to suppress a smile. In that moment, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was madly in love with her. He would wager a million bucks she felt the same, but she was in no mood to exchange words of love, so he would have to resort to some sexual subterfuge.

He straightened his shirt and suit coat and allowed himself his most charming grin. "No," he replied. "I've been trying to talk to you for two days, and this was the only way I could think of to make it happen."

"I don't need or want any explanations. I wouldn't believe another word out of your mouth anyway, so you may as well leave before I call security."

She moved quickly toward her desk to do just that, but he was up, as stealthy and quick as a cat, to stay her hand on the telephone.

She tensed at his touch, at the warmth of his body pressing against her back. He clasped her reaching hand in his, and whispered near her ear.

"Teresa, please. Give me a chance to explain."

Her mind was racing. He was actually right where she wanted him, wasn't he? Contrite and willing to do anything to get back in her good graces. This was the time to set him up for the surprise she'd planned for him this afternoon. She forced herself to relax, and, properly encouraged, his hands came up to rest on her shoulders, turning her around to face him.

"I'm sorry," he began, his mint tea scented breath soft on her heated cheeks. "Truly, I am." His eyes were unguarded and imploring, and she desperately wanted to believe him. _But, fool me twice…_

"All right," she said, stepping a safe distance from his embrace. "You have exactly"—she glanced at her watch for effect—"three minutes, and then after the presentation, I never want to see you again."

"Three minutes, eh?" he said, amused at the arbitrary time limit.

"Two minutes and forty-five seconds," she shot back coldly.

He sighed. She was so damn stubborn he wanted nothing more than to kiss her into submission. _That will come later, Patrick old boy._

"Fine. I admitted the other day that at first I resented you, wanted to steal your ideas and make you look the fool."

"Well, congratulations," she spat, "you succeeded brilliantly."

"Does that outburst count against my three minutes?"

She clamped her mouth shut, and he continued, undaunted. "But the more I got to know you, the more I realized that I _wanted _to work with you. That we really would make a good team, but I was so deep into the lie, I didn't know how to dig my way out. I knew you hated Patrick Jane, but you were obviously falling for Jack King. How the hell was I going to convince you that my feelings were true, when everything else was false?"

"The moment you put on that fake accent and called yourself Jack, there was no turning back, Mr. Jane. Even if—if I _could_ forgive you, I could never trust you again. Don't you see that? You used me. And I nearly let you—" She swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. "But that was the past," she amended, remembering herself. "I-I do want to get on with things. I hate holding grudges. And that's why I came up with a way to make peace with everything that happened between us."

He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

Her sudden shift in emotions was almost startling, and he wasn't buying it for a minute. He'd humor her, though. If she wanted to find some passive aggressive way to get back at him, why, he'd let her, and then maybe they'd be even, and he might have a chance to get back in her good graces.

"What do you propose?" he asked, genuinely curious.

He didn't miss her small sigh of relief.

"I want _you_ to be the one to give the presentation to Mr. King. You were right when you said that you've been the one to develop the relationship with the client; it would make sense that you be the one to tie things up at the end."

"You want me to present _your_ work, pass it off as my own," he stated in disbelief. Yes, something was definitely up.

"Well, yes. You've already done as much already. Bringing me in at the last minute would be too confusing, too suspicious. Walter already fired you, so I don't see the harm. You are very talented, Mr. Jane, from what I've seen of your actual work, and I don't think I could send you in good conscience back out into the work force with this cloud of embarrassment hanging over your head."

"Uh-huh," he said, skeptical to say the least.

"We could leave this relationship on a professional note, and then go our separate ways."

He regarded her a moment, noting the heightened color in her cheeks. She was lying her little heart out, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what she intended. Vengeance, no doubt, but it wouldn't hurt to give her something to help her reconsider. He stepped closer to her, and she backed away until her hips pressed against the desk.

"Is that what you really want, Teresa?" he asked, his hands coming to rest on the desk on either side of her as he bend forward. His face was only inches from hers, and he watched her green eyes widen in something akin to fear—not that he would harm her, but that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

"You want me out of your life?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Please."

"Let's make sure, shall we?"

And then he kissed her. She couldn't resist him as he devoured her lips, savoring their sweetness before slipping his tongue inside to taste the silken interior of her mouth. She whimpered, unable to fight the passion he stirred within her. He lifted her up slightly to sit on the edge of the desk, her skirt riding up as he stepped between her legs. His hands found the garters where her stockings ended, and the satiny texture of her bare skin inflamed him, his heartbeat racing, his hands shaking a little as he caressed her inner thighs.

His lips left hers to trace her jawbone to the shell of her ear, and she trembled and gasped, one hand coming up to caress his stubbly cheeks. She felt his warm hand on the bow at her throat, deftly untying it, then unbuttoning her blouse until he could slip his hand inside to cup her breast. His other hand was still beneath her skirt, and when he found her heated core, she came to her senses and her hands came down to stop his sensual progress.

"Stop," she panted. "Please—I-I can't!"

She pushed him away and hopped down from the desk, both of them wobbling a bit at the sudden shift in their positions. As her quivering fingers moved to make herself decent, she watched him warily beneath her eyelashes, noting how his chest rose and fell quickly as he ran a frustrated hand through his already disheveled hair.

"You can't deny what's happening between us," he said softly. "You want this—you want _me_."

"Yes," she replied. "But that doesn't change anything. It doesn't change what you did to me."

He took another step closer. "It could change everything, if you let it."

"No. Let's end this amicably, like I said before. It's best…for both of us."

"I don't believe that. But I get it. I've hurt you. But if you'd give me ano—"

This time she met his eyes straight on, and there was a conviction there that made his heart drop into his stomach. "I can't do that. I _won't._ I'd like to think I have a little more self respect than that. I want you to leave now. Please."

He wanted nothing more than to go to her, convince her to take him back with more kisses. He could do it; he had no doubt. But he realized he'd already disrespected her so much in the past, that he felt abashed as the guilt of his former ruse suffused him now.

"If that's what you want," he said.

She held up her chin, and he loved her all the more. "It is."

He left her then, striding past a wide-eyed Sarah, and Teresa stumbled to the couch before she lost her tenuous hold on her emotions. She cried into the pillow that smelled like him.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane took the time to go home and shower and shave before his farewell presentation. This would be his last chance to improve Teresa's opinion of him, and maybe impress Walter and Jack King enough that they would decide to keep him. If he could be in close proximity to Teresa, day in and day out, working beside her, he'd be more easily able to finagle his way back into her good graces (and other places). But if he left the company, his chances of winning her back would drop dramatically. Oh, he was still determined to try no matter what, but he was somewhat disheartened at her determination to push him away.

Teresa was in the conference room when he arrived, and she looked up at him, flushing first, then forcing her expression to go blank. Jane admired her attempt, but she was just as bad at hiding her emotions as she was at lying. He disconcerted her, but he liked her like that.

"Good afternoon," he said in amusement.

He gave her his most nonthreatening smile, but she looked away, mumbling a polite reply. She tried calming her nerves by rearranging the tray of hors d'oeuvre and pastries in the center of the long conference table. There was a teapot and one with coffee as well, along with a pitcher of ice water. Jane poured himself a cup of tea and sat across from her, his eyes taking in every detail of her familiar beige suit and contrasting dark hair, tantalizingly gathered into a neat bun at her pale nape. He wanted nothing more than to mess up her tidy appearance, preferably by rolling around with her in a nice warm bed. Jane shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

She felt his eyes on her and risked a glance that she regretted immediately. He was so damn handsome that her mouth went dry, and the memory of their earlier kisses in her office flashed through her mind, heightening her nervousness. Could she really go through with this? She poured herself some water and took a fortifying gulp.

At the head of the table was an easel with large picture boards, covered by a cloth no doubt intended to build up King's anticipation before the dramatic reveal. Jane noticed that she was purposefully avoiding looking in that direction almost as much as she was avoiding him. He rose to see what she was hiding just as Walter Mashburn and Jack King entered the conference room.

"Paddy!" King exclaimed, walking confidently to Jane and shaking his hand warmly.

"Jack," said Jane with a smile.

Across the table, Teresa rose as well, and Mashburn turned to her, the rosiness of his complexion heightening when he saw her cringe at his two black eyes nestled within his fading sunburn. He knew he looked a sight, and embarrassment suffused him.

She'd yelled decidedly unladylike curses at the boxer at the restaurant that night, calling for the waiter to bring Mashburn an ice pack at the same time. She'd made even a hardened fighter ashamed, and Owens had tossed several bills on the table to cover the cost of their meal, scurrying quickly away, tail between his legs. Teresa could summon the perfect air of a reproving nun when she chose, and no man—not even a prize fighter-could escape the feelings of contrition she engendered.

Despite his jealousy where her feelings for Jane were concerned, Walter's smile showed genuine admiration.

"Jack, meet Miss Teresa Lisbon. We were able to bring her back on board to help finesse the final presentation."

Teresa came to him, extending her hand with a confidence she wasn't feeling.

"Well, aren't you prettier than a little speckled pup," he said, his heavy accent a painful reminder of Jane's subterfuge. She forced herself to smile.

"Why, thank you, Mr. King. It's nice to finally meet you at last."

"You were holding out on me, Mash," said the surfboard mogul, not immediately releasing her hand. "I see what this was now. You were afraid I'd steal her away from you and smuggle her home in my steamer trunk."

"You caught me," said Mashburn, and the three men chuckled, but each for different reasons. "Please, Jack, won't you sit down and help yourself to some refreshments. Miss Lisbon and Jane have something very impressive for you."

"Well, if the preliminaries Paddy showed me were any indication, I'm impressed already."

The big man settled into the chair closest to the head of the table and reached for a canapé, while Teresa offered to pour their client a cup of coffee.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, noting her pleasing form beneath her silk blouse.

Across the table, Jane frowned. He didn't like the way the Australian was ogling his lady. If there was any ogling to be done, it would be by Jane, himself.

"Teresa," said Mashburn, nodding toward the easel. "Will you do the honors?"

"Actually, Walter, since Mr. Jane has been our point man on this, I think he's just the man for the job. After all, this was his dream from the very beginning."

Mashburn's eyes narrowed. "You sure about this, Teresa?"

She smiled. "Absolutely. Take it away, Mr. Jane."

Jane moved into position beside the picture boards, his suspicions in high gear at Teresa's magnanimity, but it was too late. Whatever she was planning was about to fall down squarely upon his head, and he knew he'd have to suck it up for the sake of any future relationship. He took a deep breath.

"Surfing," he began, "is not just a sport or a challenging pastime. It is a way to get in touch with nature, with the ocean, to become not just a traveler upon its wave"- here he pulled off the cloth covering the display—"but to feel like you are a part of the ocean itself…"

In their high-backed leather chairs, both King and Mashburn gasped audibly. With a sinking heart, Jane turned his head to look at the picture he'd revealed.

On the top of an exaggerated wave, a Sea Mist surfboard was poised, ridden by a wobbly, cartoonish kangaroo in an old-fashioned striped bathing suit, its large feet hanging ten over the edge of the board. Its furry arms were stretched out, trying in vain to keep its balance. To add insult to injury, the name _Jack_ was emblazoned upon the kangaroo's tank top. Beneath the illustration was the slogan:

_Sea Mist: Australian for Surf Boards_

"What the bloody hell is _this_?" roared King. "This is not at all what I agreed to earlier, Jane! It's a mockery of my good name!"

Mashburn had turned white beneath his sunburn. "Jane," he hissed,  
"where are the other boards? The _other_ campaign?"

Jane shrugged, his eyes on Teresa.

"What kind of stereotypical claptrap are you peddling, Mashburn?" King was ranting. "It's been nothing but bait and switch since I agreed to come to California!"

"Look, Jack, I had no idea—"

"Wait," said Teresa, reaching calmly beneath the table. "I was afraid Mr. Jane might pull something like this, so I took the liberty of bringing my own campaign. May I, gentlemen?" She stood and set a picture board on the table before her, the illustration beautifully familiar.

Mashburn let out his held breath in relief. "Please, Miss Lisbon, for the love of God, proceed."

Jane had to hand it to her. As far as paybacks went, this took the prize. After his embarrassing failure, she would be the one to swoop in like some sort of Supergirl or Joan of Arc and save the day. But this was Jane's very reputation at stake now, and, love or no, he wasn't just going to stand by and let her ruin his career this way. He stepped back to the table, pretending to look at Teresa's board in surprise. In fact, he leaned over so far that he "accidentally" knocked over the teapot, spilling its steaming contents all over Cho and Rigsby's painstaking artistry and splashing onto Teresa's pretty little suit.

Teresa let out a cry of surprise and stepped away from the table, while Jane leaped into action.

"Oops," he said casually, reaching for a cloth napkin. Instead of blotting up the tea, however, he rubbed it in even more, hopelessly smearing the picture to the point of tearing a wet hole in the center of the illustrated sea.

"What the hell kind of business are you running here?" said King in disgust. A bit of tea had splashed on his suit coat, and he grabbed a napkin, dabbing at it furiously. He got up from the dripping table and tossed the napkin on the plate of sodden pastries. "I should have known better than to entrust my surfboards with some third tier ad company. You've wasted a week of my valuable time, Mashburn."

"Look, Jack, there's been some sort of misunderstanding. Let's reschedule another presentation—"

"Ha! That'll be the day. I'm off to New York and Sterling Cooper. As far as I'm concerned, you and your unprofessional…_yahoos_ can forget the whole damn thing!"

He stormed from the room, while Teresa stood there, in shock by how completely her plan had fallen apart.

"You're fired," Mashburn practically spat at Jane, who wisely refrained from pointing out that this was old news. But then Mashburn turned on Teresa in equal fury. "_Both_ of you!"

Their former boss dashed out of the room in pursuit of Jack King, hoping against hope he could repair the damage his wayward co-Creative Directors had wrought.

"That went well," said Jane dryly, when they were alone.

Teresa rounded on him with all the frigidity of the Arctic Circle. "I loathe you," she growled, and threw a balled up, wet napkin in his general direction. He neatly sidestepped it, and watched her stomp from the room as fast as her shapely legs could carry her.

_Well,_ he thought, with unreasonable optimism, _love and hate are two sides of the same coin, after all_.

He grabbed a canapé that wasn't soaked in tea and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He studied the kangaroo on the surfboard in delayed amusement, shaking his head at the brilliance of Teresa's now failed plan. Then, with a self-deprecating grin, he grabbed another handful of hors d'oeuvres and put them in his suit coat pocket for later.

He was out of a job. Who knew where his next meal might come from?

**A/N: The ball is back in Nerwen's court! Please log in and review if you liked this chapter. Now, as for tonight's episode, hold onto your teabags, folks. I'm so excited about the upcoming Jisbon, I can barely contain myself…**


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